Harry's Weapon
by gardenofwords
Summary: After the fight at the Ministry of Magic from OTP, Voldemort scolds Bellatrix for failing. She reminds him of when he used to love her. Harry watches the scene through a dream, realizing that Bellatrix is Voldemort's weakness and his weapon against him.
1. The Dream

The Dream

He could hear the sobbing clearly now, begin to see the picture in his mind's eye. He had never mastered Occlumency, after all.

At first, Harry just saw darkness, heard sniveling, whimpering. Then her face became clearer through the darkness, overcast, grief-stricken, tears streaming down what had undoubtedly once been a painfully beautiful face. Bellatrix Lestrange's dark curtain of hair fell around her face as if trying to hide her, to let her grieve in peace.

But it was clear she would be heard, would be noticed, because as Harry continued to watch, the picture inside his head panned out and he could see the rest of the room. Bellatrix was standing in the doorway, clearly afraid to enter the room. Her eyes darted furtive glances across the room every few seconds as she sobbed. As the darkness receded and the picture grew, Harry's mind revealed a Persian rug, a crackling fireplace, and then the entire room.

On the opposite end from the doorway was a window, and standing in front of it, looking out, his back to the door, stood Voldemort, cold and stark-white as ever, his black robes still dusty, hands folded behind his back as he gazed out the window, looking at nothing. Bellatrix's fearful glances were clearly directed at him. For a long while, it seemed Voldemort would just ignore her; then he spoke in a deadly whisper.

"Come in, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix, still sobbing, sucked in a breath quickly, emitting a small squeak before obeying hesitantly, moving slowly into the room a step at a time, her eyes now darting around the room, as if she were afraid something was going to jump out at her any second.

"You—you wanted to see me, Master?" She had refocused her full attention upon Voldemort's tense back.

"No, Bellatrix, I think I would rather I never saw you again after that disaster tonight at the ministry. Do not give yourself the satisfaction of thinking that I _wanted_ you in my presence, but rather recognize the fact that there is no more efficient way of dealing with you and letting you know _exactly_ how I feel about tonight."

"My lord, I am truly sorry. I tried. Please understand—"

"DO NOT ASK ME TO UNDERSTAND!" Voldemort practically screamed at her, whirling around in anger. "And do not assume that I do not! Are you really so ignorant as to think your intelligence superior to mine? To believe that you understand circumstances better than I? I assure you, Bellatrix, I fully comprehend every aspect, every _detail_ of every event that transpired tonight, just as well as I comprehend how abysmally you failed to complete your mission—"

"But, my lord, please! I was not the only one. I got further than the rest! I evaded capture! And I killed Sirius Black! I killed Harry Potter's godfather, I broke his heart, I've made him weak, vulnerable, an easier match for you—"

"I DID NOT SEND YOU SOLELY TO KILL HARRY POTTER! I sent you to retrieve the prophecy, and did you do it?"

"I—"

"DID YOU DO IT, BELLATRIX?"

"I—No, my lord."

"NO! YOU DID NOT! YOU LET IT SMASH TO PIECES, AND YOU WERE DEFEATED BY A HANDFUL OF _CHILDREN_ AND SOME WEAK SOCIETY OF TEACHERS AND RANDOM NOBODIES NAMED AFTER A _BIRD_, YOU AND THE REST OF THAT MISERABLE, UNWORTHY LOT I MISTAKENLY SENT TONIGHT! I do not make mistakes often, Bellatrix." His voice had dropped dramatically back to a whisper. "But my biggest mistake so far seems to have been trusting you."

Then, as Harry watched, Bellatrix surprised him. She crossed the room quickly with a desperate look on her face, threw herself on the floor at Voldemort's feet with a painful cry, and began to rock back and forth on her shins, her head hitting the floor every time she rocked forward. She was absolutely balling now, her breath coming in sharp gasps, and after a minute or two of this, she raised herself up on her knees, clasped her hands together and looked up at Voldemort with an utterly heartbroken look on her tearstained face, still fighting for air through her desperate crying.

"Pleeeaase," she begged hoarsely, still crying, and she looked so grief-stricken, and so childlike, that for the briefest of milliseconds, in his sleep, Harry almost felt sorry for her.

"Please, I can't bear to lose favor with you!"

"Well, you have irrevocably accomplished that tonight, intentionally or otherwise. Get up, Bellatrix! And pull yourself together in my presence."

Slowly she rose from the floor, breathing sharply as she tried to stop her crying. She took a few deep breaths and said, in a slightly calmer voice, "My lord, think back. I beg you, for just a few moments, think back."

Harry was sure Voldemort would yell at her again, perhaps even strike her, but he was surprised a second time when Voldemort simply turned back around to stare out the window again. Bellatrix seemed heartened by this and took a step forward, reaching out a hand slowly toward Voldemort.

"Think back to Hogwarts. To when we were younger." Her hand came down gently on his shoulder.

Surely, Harry thought, surely she would be punished now. But Voldemort made no move to punish her or push her away, nor did he turn toward her or acknowledge that he felt her touch.

"Tom," she breathed.

Okay, now she was dead. There was no way she would get away with that one. But now, to Harry's utter astonishment, Voldemort did turn toward her, as slowly as she'd reached out to touch him.

"Bellatrix," he responded, and it was hard to tell if his tone was endearing or warning.

He stared at her for a moment, and she stared back, their eyes locked on each other as if each one was afraid that if they made a sudden move, whatever was now passing would be shattered. And considering who the two were, if Bellatrix moved, it likely would be shattered, no doubt by her sudden death.

Then suddenly Voldemort's snake-like eyes clouded and he looked at the floor. The half-smile that had been locked on Bellatrix's face vanished as she came out of the trance in which they had both seemed to be.

"Get out of my sight, Bellatrix, before I decide to punish you as I should."

Bellatrix hesitated for a moment, half-turning toward the door, then decided to take her chances.

"There was a time when you called me Bella," she whispered. "You said it again, tonight at the ministry. I know it was unintentional, but perhaps there's a part of you that still wants to call me Bella, that still remembers…"

"I never cared for you, Bellatrix—"

"That's not true! You know that's not true, Tom!"

"DO NOT REFER TO ME BY THAT NAME! I have no association with it."

"You used to! And so did I, when that's who you were to me, at school, on our walks around the lake in the middle of the night because you were afraid of people knowing you loved—"

"DO NOT FINISH THAT LIE! Fear and love are two things I neither feel now nor have ever felt before. They are the ultimate weaknesses, both of which have been splayed across your face tonight as uncovered as your vulnerable heart, which sooner or later will be shattered so brutally that the rest of you will shatter, too, until you're nothing but a broken corpse laying in pieces if you allow fear and love to control you—to even be any part of you. And I WILL NOT tolerate anyone who succumbs to such weaknesses, so you will do well to obey my earlier command and GET. OUT. OF. MY. SIGHT., Bellatrix Lestrange."

And with a look that said she truly had just been broken, Bellatrix turned and strode from the room, perhaps too afraid, perhaps too in love, to say another word.

And Harry knew, as darkness closed in on the scene and subconsciousness became consciousness, that Dumbledore had been wrong. Despite what Voldemort had told Bellatrix, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that he'd been lying and that Dumbledore had been wrong. Voldemort had at one time experienced love. Harry's greatest strength truly was a weakness for Voldemort. For Voldemort did have one weakness. And her name was Bellatrix Lestrange.


	2. Distractions

Chapter 2: Distractions

Just as dawn broke, Harry's green eyes snapped open as sharply as if he had never gone to sleep, reflecting the golden, early-morning sunlight. Remembering instantly what he'd seen during the night, Harry threw off his covers and dressed so quickly that he ended up with his glasses on upside-down, his socks mismatched, and his shoes on the wrong feet.

Realizing this, he let out a frustrated growl, half-rousing Seamus, who muttered, "But I like the _pink_ tea cozy better, Mum," subconsciously, and rolled over in his sleep.

Grinning in spite of himself, Harry righted his wardrobe malfunctions, except for the socks, because let's face it, who really cared? and rushed out of the boy's dormitory, out the portrait hole, and down to Dumbledore's office in what had to be a record time.

He stopped dead in front of the gargoyle. The password. Right. That would definitely help. Letting out another frustrated growl and pulling at his hair, Harry had a strong urge to kick Mrs. Norris, who was passing by, glaring at him for making such a fuss.

He looked back at the stone gargoyle. He could just guess. He'd done that before, and it had worked…on accident. Or he supposed he could wait until he saw Dumbledore at breakfast, but he was so frantic to tell him what he'd seen that he quickly discarded this option. Harry stood there, trying to decide the best thing to do, when a pleasant voice said,

"Good morning, Harry."

Harry whirled around and stared up into the bespectacled face of the headmaster.

"Oh, Professor, hi—I was just coming to see you. Only, I don't know the password, so---sir, what are those?"

Harry pointed to a wicker basket that Dumbledore was holding, which was filled with what seemed to be shimmering, over-sized blueberries that continually changed colors as Harry watched.

"Ah," Dumbledore said lightly, "Diffleberries. Quite useful. They can heal many common illnesses. Colds, fever, influenza, the like. They grow in abundance around Hogwarts, so I thought I'd pick a few on my morning stroll and give them to Madam Pomfrey."

"In abundance? I've never seen those before."

"Well, no, you wouldn't have unless you'd touched the tree. Diffleberries only appear once a person has placed a hand on the tree on which they grow."

"Oh. Well, anyway," Harry continued, silently cursing himself for getting so easily distracted, "sir, I had another dream last night. Another vision."

"Voldemort again, I presume?"

"Yes. And he was with Bellatrix Lestrange. She—"

"Forgive me, Harry, but perhaps it would be better to continue this particular conversation in my office."

He turned to the gargoyle. "Mugwump," he said, and the gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside to admit them. Harry was glad he hadn't tried to guess.

Once inside Dumbledore's office, Dumbledore went around behind his desk and gestured for Harry to take the seat in front of it. He did so.

"Sir," he continued. "Bellatrix—"

_Squawk!_

Harry jumped and whipped around in his seat. Just as he did so, Fawkes burst into bright orange flames, an event Harry had witnessed before but which nevertheless still unsettled him, and stuck out his baby head from the heap of ashes underneath his perch.

Harry continued to stare for a moment, still feeling both queasy and shocked, until Dumbledore prompted,

"Bellatrix?"

Harry shook his head and turned back around.

"Right, sorry. Bellatrix was crying, she was the first one I saw. They were in some kind of room, I don't know where—"

_"Aaaaaaaah!_"

The piercing scream served as yet another interruption, fraying Harry's nerves even while alarming him. He and Dumbledore both looked at the door.

_What now?_ Harry thought, getting up and following Dumbledore, who was already striding across the office to the door.

Back out in the corridor, the source of the scream was evident immediately. Not twenty feet down the hall from the stone gargoyle, a second-year girl was pinned against the wall, paralyzed by fear and staring wide-eyed into the eyes of a great, green crocodile.

Dumbledore muttered a spell under his breath that Harry could not hear, and instantly, red cords appeared out of thin air and wrapped themselves around the crocodile's snout while the crocodile shrunk in size until it was no larger than Harry's wand.

Harry could do nothing but stand and stare at this bizarre scene, even as Dumbledore acted swiftly, never showing the slightest sign that he found this situation at all out of the ordinary.

Quite calmly, Dumbledore strode the few feet across the hall to the miniature crocodile, picked it up, and held it firmly in his hands, just as Professor Flitwick came scurrying down the hall toward them.

"Oh—I'm so—where did it—?" Professor Flitwick stopped, seeing the little animal in Dumbledore's hands. "Is that--?"

"The crocodile that was just accosting Miss Jenison? Yes," Dumbledore replied conversationally.

Professor Flitwick sighed. "There was still a patch of the Weasley twins' swamp left," he explained. "Not the one in the corridor that we roped off, but a bigger one in an unused classroom. It's gone now, but that crocodile escaped before I could clear it up."

Dumbledore nodded. "Filius, would you please escort Miss Jenison to the hospital wing and have Madam Pomfrey give her a Calming Draught?"

Professor Flitwick nodded and looked at the second-year girl, still pinned to the wall with fright.

"Come on, dear; do you think you can make it?" he asked in a soothing voice, going over to her and taking her by the arm.

Just as they rounded the corner, Professor McGonagall came round it, walking briskly.

"Good morning, Albus. Potter." She nodded at each of them in turn, and then stopped abruptly. "Is that...?"

"A crocodile," Dumbledore said lightly, almost happily.

"Oh…of course." She made to leave, a bewildered looked on her face, but Dumbledore said,

"Minerva, would you be so kind as to take this charming little creature down to Hagrid, please? I would do it myself, but I'm afraid my attention belongs to Harry at the moment, and he has been kept waiting."

Harry fought the extremely strong urge to laugh out loud as he watched Professor McGonagall's face when she took the crocodile from Dumbledore, looking less sure than he had ever seen her.

"Oh—well, I—to Hagrid's then," she stammered, looking incredibly flustered, and continued down the corridor.

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore, as serene as ever, said, "I believe we still have some business to discuss. After you." And he gestured for Harry to lead the way back down the corridor toward the gargoyle.

"Mugwump," Dumbledore said for the second time that morning, and again the gargoyle leapt aside to admit them.

As soon as they were back inside Dumbledore's office, Harry said, "VoldemortwasinlovewithBellatrix," all in a rush before he could be interrupted again.

"Excuse me?" said Dumbledore politely. Harry took a deep breath.

"Voldemort was in love with Bellatrix. When they were at Hogwarts. You said Voldemort doesn't know love, that that's my greatest power, one he doesn't have, but sir, I'm telling you, I know Voldemort has loved. He used to love Bellatrix, maybe even still loves her now. If I can use her against him, somehow, I think, well…I think it would work."

Harry ended rather feebly, realizing how unstable his plan sounded, because, really, it wasn't a plan, he had no idea _how_ he could use Bellatrix against Voldemort.

He looked at Dumbledore for support, encouragement—ideas. But Dumbledore said nothing.

**I don't know yet if this chapter will really have much relevance in the grand scheme of the story, but...I had fun writing it. Please read and review!  
**


	3. In Dumbledore's Office

Chapter 3: In Dumbledore's Office

"Sir?" Harry prompted when Dumbledore remained silent, staring at him calmly, even indifferently, it seemed. Finally he spoke.

"I am aware that Tom and Bellatrix were close when they were students here," he said. "They kept it quiet, of course, but as you know, not much escapes my notice."

Harry said nothing, and Dumbledore continued,

"However, Harry, as I've told you before, Tom never had any true friends, and I am quite confident that he used even his relationship with Bellatrix for his own gain. She and her sister Narcissa, particularly, were quite sought after in their later years at Hogwarts."

At these words, Harry was suddenly reminded of Ginny. Flaring up in silent anger at himself for making such a comparison, he refocused his thoughts on what Dumbledore was saying.

"He would have used her to gain greater access to others in the school, particularly her many admirers, whom he, I'm sure, then recruited to follow him like faithful dogs, as he did with all of his other so-called friends. Not to mention the power he would have felt he had by dating a girl who had the attention of so many other young men no doubt was a strong motive in maintaining his relationship with her."

"But sir, like you said, they kept it a secret. No one would have known, he wouldn't have had power because of it."

Dumbledore's smile was indulgent. His eyes sparkled.

"Oh," he said, "there were those who knew. Certainly, some of Tom's closest followers of the day were in on the secret, which Tom intentionally leaked to them. The secret was spread, slyly, but only to those who admired Tom or admired Bellatrix. Indeed, the number of Tom's followers grew noticeably after he established a relationship, of sorts, with Bellatrix."

"But—you didn't see them, sir, in the dream, he let her touch him, he let her call him Tom, if anybody else had done that, they'd be dead in an instant. The way he looked at her—I _know_ he had feelings for her."

Dumbledore contemplated for a moment.

"Perhaps," he conceded. "Perhaps he did. But his greatest love has always been power, and that is no real love at all, but rather a hunger. However, if you are correct, and Voldemort truly did love—and still has lingering feelings for—Bellatrix, then we should not discard the notion of using her to defeat him. How do you think this could be accomplished?"

Harry started, taken aback at being asked such a question by a man he felt should have all the answers, but closer examination of Dumbledore's face made Harry believe that Dumbledore was merely asking Harry's opinion rather than seeking an answer to a question that he had no idea how to approach.

"Well, sir," Harry began, "I suppose we could…well, I really don't know. But…what do you think?"

"Oh, I haven't the slightest idea," Dumbledore said lightly, smiling. Harry wondered if he was hiding his ideas from him, but realized that Dumbledore was simply being brutally honest in his own, lighthearted way. Rather a little like Luna Lovegood, actually, now that he thought about it.

"I want you to think about this, Harry," Dumbledore said, growing more solemn. "I want you to contemplate how to put the information you have obtained into a plan of action. I will think on it as well, but Harry, I must impress upon you that if there is true merit to your theory, then formulating a plan from it is extremely important. Consider it a special…assignment, if you will," Dumbledore said.

Feeling rather important, Harry said, "Yes, sir, I will, I promise."

"Good," Dumbledore said approvingly and with an air of finality that Harry interpreted to mean it was time to take his leave.

A few minutes later, Harry rushed down to breakfast, eager to tell Ron and Hermione everything. Running down the corridor, Harry was caught off guard as a sudden pain erupted in his scar. It was so intense that it made his eyes water, and so sudden that the pain, combined with his inability to see through tear-filled eyes, resulted in Harry veering to his right and colliding with the wall.

Harry staggered backward, rubbing his head furiously. Tripping on his robes, he fell backwards onto the ground. His vision went black just as a voice exploded inside his head.

_"You…slimy, little wretch,"_ the voice hissed, long and slow. Harry recognized it at once with a stab of fear.

_"You think you can worm your way into my head, steal my secrets with no consequences. You're a fool. A fool in so many ways, Harry Potter. A fool who thinks he has a weapon against _me_. Bellatrix Lestrange, used against me…" _Voldemort trailed off into maniacal laughter.

_"Be warned, Potter…"_


	4. Indecision, Dinner With the Death Eaters

Indecision and Dinner With the Death Eaters

Harry's eyes flew open as the voice faded and he realized after a moment that he was sprawled on the floor, staring up at the high, decorative ceiling. Panting hard, Harry sat up, staring around, his head swimming. The corridor was still empty, thankfully. Pushing himself off the ground, Harry took off down the corridor, raced down the stairs and across the entrance hall to the entryway to the Great Hall, through which Ron and Hermione were just passing.

Ron was talking quickly and excitedly to Hermione, but he broke off mid-sentence when he saw Harry, panting and out of breath.

"Hey," he said. "Where'd you get to this morning?"

Harry wanted to tell them everything that had happened, but people were coming out of the Great Hall by themselves or in small groups, and they could easily be overheard.

"Not now," said Harry. "I'll tell you everything later."

As luck would have it, they had Charms first that morning—the easiest class in which to hold a conversation without being overheard.

Once he was sure no one was listening (everyone was busy practicing and talking to those around them), Harry proceeded to tell Ron and Hermione all about the dream he'd had, his conversation with Dumbledore, and Voldemort's voice in his head.

Stunned silence greeted his words.

"Bellatrix—You-Know-Who talked—you think—?" Ron seemed to be having trouble deciding which topic to address first. Fortunately, Hermione was much more capable with words.

"So Bellatrix and Voldemort dated when they were at Hogwarts? And Dumbledore suspects that Voldemort was just using her, but you think it was real and want to use Bellatrix to defeat him? Only Voldemort's found out, and now he's messing with your head—literally."

"That about sums it up," Harry replied as Hermione cast Ron an annoyed look. He was wincing so hard from hearing the name Voldemort three times in such rapid succession that it looked as though he'd just been kicked quite hard under the table.

That night, Harry lay awake in bed, thinking.

Bellatrix…perhaps he could blackmail her, get her to talk to Voldemort, yell at him, tell him _she_ never loved _him_, weaken him somehow…

The thought was laughable. Of the two of them, it didn't take a genius to figure out that Bellatrix would take her chances with Harry before Voldemort, even if he did manage to find her, catch her off guard, pull his wand on her, and threaten to kill her, which she wouldn't believe he was capable of doing, anyway. Voldemort would kill her if she acted defiant to him, and she would know it. No, that whole plan was too far-fetched and impossible to consider.

Still, he would need to get to Bellatrix somehow, which was impossible in itself, and then what? He captured her and used her to lure Voldemort to him, then told Voldemort to drop his wand and back off or he'd kill his girlfriend? Right. This time Harry really did laugh out loud.

His laughter quickly turned to a frustrated growl as he rolled over in his bed. This was impossible. Maybe he should just scrap the whole Bellatrix idea completely, and go back to the original, most likely long-term, plan of just destroying all the Horcruxes individually and then dueling Voldemort and hoping to come out alive.

He drifted off to sleep wearily, hope fading away…

Miles away, in an old abandoned home in London, the Death Eaters were just sitting down to eat. These were the few still left, the ones who had rallied around Voldemort again and who had not been sent on the mission to the Ministry and captured the night before.

The room was large and dusty, the long wooden table covered with plates of mostly stolen food. Living in hiding did not suit Voldemort well. Although he was used to it, he still glared around the dusty kitchen, angry at the knowledge of how close he'd come not only to hearing the prophecy, but also to killing Harry Potter and Dumbledore, his greatest threats. Now, instead of reveling openly in his triumphs, he was holed up yet again, laying low in abandoned hovels and eating stolen food while the idiotic Ministry finally got its facts straight and informed the world of his return…and of his defeat the night before.

He'd been lingering in the doorway, but now he entered the room and strode across to the head of the long table, at which the biggest and best chair had been set for him. The muttered conversation around the table died instantly, and the Death Eaters all stood simultaneously as he approached his place. Pulling back his chair, which squeaked loudly on the floor, sending up puffs of dust around the chair legs, Voldemort took his seat and looked around at his followers with an appraising gaze.

He nodded, and the Death Eaters resumed their seats, again simultaneously. There was one empty space, the chair to Voldemort's right. Seconds passed in complete silence, then Bellatrix rushed into the room, black hair and black robes billowing behind her. Her footsteps clicking lightly and quickly against the floor were the only sound in the room. She ran behind Voldemort's chair and took her place on his right, an anxious look on her face.

"I'm s-sorry, my Lord," she stammered. He did not respond.

There were a total of nine of them seated at the table, including Voldemort. Sixteen eyes looked his way, and when he nodded again, they began to eat, and conversation resumed.

Voldemort ate in silence, secretly still brooding over his losses of the night before, and, though he would never admit it to a living soul, dwelling on Bellatrix's words. In all her later years of serving him, after he had made it clear so many years ago that there was no longer anything between them but her loyal servitude to him, Bellatrix had never attempted to bring up their teenage relationship until last night.

Something pulled lightly at the back of his mind, at his cold heart, and at the last fragment of soul remaining in his body, some reminder of an emotion that he'd felt years ago, something that he'd long since ceased to feel. But he couldn't think what it was that this tugging sensation wanted him to remember, so far removed from him was the emotion of love, or even the memory of the feeling of love.

He could feel Bellatrix's eyes on him. She was the only one not lost in conversation with a neighbor. He did not look at her, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead in such a way that he let her know that he knew she was watching him and had no interest in giving her his attention.

But Bellatrix watched him anyway. There was a feeling nagging at her, too, but she knew exactly what it was; there was no reminder here—she didn't need one. The love she'd felt for him when she was a girl was as fresh in her mind as the longing she felt now because it had never subsided. She was as cold and cruel as any of the other Death Eaters seated around the table or the ones in Azkaban; she'd kill almost anyone in an instant without thinking twice about it. But as steeped in evil as she was, she was still capable of overflowing with love for the man seated inches from her, though he was so drowned in the same evil that he didn't return it…Did he?

She gazed at the serpentine face, remembering Voldemort at Hogwarts, remembering how he used to look. Oh, he could make any girl go weak at the knees, then, tall, dark-haired, with a heart-stopping smile. He'd charmed his way into many people's hearts, teachers as well as students, with that brilliant smile of his. He'd certainly charmed his way into hers. She remembered the time they'd spent together at Hogwarts, when he would lure her away on her own, in the middle of the night. They'd sneak out onto the grounds, sit under a tree by the lake. He'd hold her close, whisper in her ear, tell her he'd be powerful some day, more powerful than she could imagine, and she'd be by his side…

And here they were, years later. He was the most powerful Dark wizard in the world, and she was seated by his side, but at the same time, she was nowhere near him.

Voldemort spoke suddenly, shaking her out of her reverie.

"Everyone out. I want to speak to Bellatrix alone." Conversation stopped abruptly as the Death Eaters turned their heads toward Voldemort, then pushed their chairs back and began to leave the room.

Bellatrix's heart was racing. He wanted to speak to her alone? She felt a mixture of fear, hope, and excitement. Was he still angry with her? Was she to be punished? Or had he, perhaps, thought about what she'd said to him last night?

When the room was empty except for the two of them, Voldemort turned to Bellatrix and spoke.

"It may interest you to know," he began, and she noted the icy edge to his voice, "that Harry Potter witnessed your embarrassing display last night. He's gotten it into his head, after getting into mine, that he can use you against me. He believes you have some kind of influence over me…"

Here he gave her a look as if daring her to plead again that she knew he loved her, that she did have "some kind of influence" over him. She dropped her gaze to the floor.

Voldemort stood up abruptly and walked around behind her chair to hiss in her ear. "You're a fool, Bellatrix. As much a fool as Harry Potter. If he gets the Order in on this little plan of his, then they'll target you in order to target me. I told you displaying your heart would make you vulnerable, and now your life is jeopardized tenfold. Know this, _Bella_: if you end up standing in my way, I will kill you."


	5. Bellatrix's Plan

Bellatrix's Plan

Bellatrix lay awake that night in the old bedroom in which she was sleeping while they remained in hiding. It was nearly as dusty as the kitchen, and some particles of dust still lingered on the bed, where she lay with the covers and sheets kicked off, hoping the slight breeze that was coming in from the window would give her relief from the relentless heat.

But it was neither the dust nor the heat that was keeping her awake. It was, as usual, her thoughts. One was of Voldemort's words, earlier tonight, at dinner. He had cut her like a knife when he'd told her he was willing to kill her, though she secretly wondered whether he really would do so, if faced with the situation.

But she felt a distinct feeling of guilt, guilt for caring what Voldemort thought, for caring that he no longer seemed to love her. These feelings led to thoughts of Rodolphus, her recently deceased husband. She remembered vividly that day, a few months ago now, when Voldemort had called her in and informed her, shortly, of her husband's death, offered superficial condolences, then sent her from the room again.

She still didn't know for sure what had happened, whether Voldemort had killed Rodolphus himself, had him killed, or if Rodolphus had died by other means—perhaps the Order had killed him? She only knew that she'd never seen him again and that she should have felt more anger towards Voldemort, for not giving her more details of her husband's death and because there was a chance Voldemort had been behind his death.

But once the shock had subsided, her grief had been surprisingly short-lived, and feelings that she'd suppressed for Voldemort had resurfaced, not feelings of anger, but feelings of longing, of love, and memories of times they'd spent together.

She still sometimes felt guilty for trying to rekindle her relationship with Voldemort, but she was in over her head now. In fact, she was drowning.

A tear slid down her pretty face as she rolled over on her side and let her eyelids drift closed. She was tired of this nightly routine. She had to put these thoughts from her mind or she'd never get any peace, not to mention sleep.

As it happened, sleep never came, but another thought did— a plan— and the morning found Bellatrix lying on her bed with a smile on her face…

Harry trudged into the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione next morning rubbing his eyes wearily. He'd had a sleepless night and really wasn't in the mood for breakfast.

"Harry, you know, you really shouldn't stay up so late. What have you been doing, anyway? You _still_haven't finished McGonagall's essay, and you've had three nights!" Hermione's voice was just noise in Harry's ear, pounding its way into his head and giving him a headache.

"Aw, come on, 'ermione, leave 'im alone," Ron said around a mouthful of muffin, one of which he'd snagged from the table while they walked.

Hermione gave him a disapproving look.

"Can you not even wait until we sit _down_ to stuff your face?"

"Can _you_ not even wait until after breakfast to start nagging us about homework?"

"I wasn't nagging, I was merely expressing my concern…"

A loud screech from overhead announced the arrival of mail as hundreds of owls swooped into the Great Hall, dropping letters and parcels over heads and outstretched arms.

Harry felt the familiar pang that he would never get another letter from Sirius, accompanied by the subconscious sure feeling that he wouldn't get a letter from anyone—who was there to send him anything?

It was to his utter astonishment, therefore, that a dark-colored owl swooped down in front of him once he was seated and landed neatly on a small empty space directly in front of his plate, staring at him with impatient yellow eyes.

Harry's own eyes widened as he stared back at the owl. There was something strange about this owl. Harry didn't know what it was, but it set it apart from the other owls in the Great Hall.

Wondering who could possibly be sending him a letter, Harry reached out, as Ron and Hermione looked on from either side of him, and untied the letter from the owl's leg.

As soon as Harry had the letter, the owl took off silently, soaring back out of the Great Hall.

There was nothing written on the envelope. Confused, Harry ripped it open and took out the letter.

_Harry,_

_Please meet me in Hogsmeade this weekend. It's the last Hogsmeade weekend of the year, and I really need to talk to you…about things. Meet me in The Hog's Head at three o'clock. Can't wait to see you._

_-Ginny_

Harry looked up from the letter and stared around, bewildered. Why would Ginny Weasley need to talk to him? What did "about things" mean? He knew she'd had feelings for him in past years but had thought she was over him. Could he have been wrong and "things" meant that she still had feelings for him and finally wanted to admit them to him openly?

He was slightly surprised when a little chill ran down his spine at this thought.

"What's up, mate?" Ron interrupted his thoughts. "Who's that from?" He pointed to the letter Harry was holding with the half of breadstick in his hand. On his other side, Hermione was trying to read over his shoulder. Harry quickly shoved the letter under the table, out of sight, feeling himself turn scarlet.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it," Harry muttered. Ron and Hermione shot each other skeptical looks but fortunately dropped the subject. On the pretense of searching for pudding, Harry scanned the Gryffindor table, looking for Ginny. She was nowhere in sight.

The next day—the day of the last Hogsmeade trip of the year—dawned rainy and surprisingly chilly. Pulling a sweatshirt out of the depths of his trunk, Harry pulled it on over his head as he ran down the dormitory steps.

Despite the rain, the line of students waiting to go to the village was as long as ever, friends chattering excitedly about this last trip. Harry, however, found himself alone, as Hermione had stayed behind to get a head start on an essay for Snape and had insisted that Ron stay to finish the same essay for McGonagall that she had lectured Harry about the day before. Fortunately, Harry had finished the essay that morning, and so was spared the lecture. He was still slightly surprised that Ron had agreed to let Hermione coerce him into staying behind, but knew that his agreeing probably had little to do with schoolwork and much more to do with the fact that he would be nearly alone with Hermione for the day.

He didn't like to think about it.

One good thing about going alone was that he didn't have to worry about trying to lose the two of them in Zonko's or Honeydukes in order to run off to the Hog's Head to meet Ginny alone.

Meeting Ginny alone. Curiosity and an odd sense of excitement swelled in him as he made his way toward the village, his head down to shield his eyes from the rain. Harry passed the Three Broomsticks and wandered farther up the lane towards the Hog's Head. Always less popular than the Three Broomsticks, today it was completely deserted except for the bartender, and Harry felt uneasy as he made his way past the bar, attracting a glare from the barman. He wandered to the very back and took a seat at a dusty table in the corner, where he felt a little less conspicuous and had a good view of the door.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty. When half an hour had gone by, Harry started to doubt whether Ginny was coming at all, and wondered vaguely why he hadn't seen her in the queue that morning or, really, at all since Thursday. Just as he was thinking this, the bell tinkled and the door opened. Ginny walked in, soaking but beautiful, her rain-drenched hair shining.

As he was the only customer, she spotted him immediately and wandered towards his table. He smiled tentatively as she drew nearer, but she did not smile back, and Harry realized that she looked strangely uneasy, scared even. She approached his table and stood, stock-still, staring at him.

"Hi, Ginny," he greeted her uncertainly. "Um…do you want to sit down?"

Ginny winced suddenly, a sharp intake of breath, then said in a shaky voice quite unlike her own, "Can…can we talk somewhere else?"

"Sure," he said, taken aback. "But…honestly, I don't think you're going to find a more private place than this." He attempted a smile. Again, Ginny did not return it. In fact, she looked on the verge of tears.

"Are you okay?" he asked, tentative again. He wasn't sure how to handle this Ginny. She was usually talkative and overflowing with confidence. Today she seemed fragile, meek.

"I'm…I'm fine." She winced again. "Can we please just go? Just…just follow me." To Harry's horror, Ginny's voice broke, and tears were falling down her face when she turned around and headed out the door, back into the rain, Harry following a good distance behind.


	6. In Voldemort's Grasp

In Voldemort's Grasp

Completely bewildered and more than a little nervous now, Harry stepped out into the rain and closed the door to the Hog's Head behind him. Where was she headed?

Ginny didn't stop. She went around behind the Hog's head and veered off the trail next to it, down a grassy slope a little ways. There, about a hundred yards away from the Hog's Head, was a dilapidated shack, barely visible in the driving rain.

Soaked to the core, Harry followed Ginny to the door of the shack.

"_A-alohamora_," she sobbed, her wand hand shaking. Harry had caught up to her now, and stood beside her, watching her hand tremble.

The door swung open, and Harry followed Ginny inside. The door closed behind him with a surprisingly loud slam.

Inside, the room was dusty and old, and it was clear it had been deserted for quite a while. There was a small stone fireplace on the far wall, and a circular wooden table in the middle with a single rickety chair.

Ginny slumped down into the chair, crying fervently now, her head in her hands. Still completely at a loss for how to handle this, Harry went around and put his hand on Ginny's shoulder.

"Ginny—what is it? What's wrong?"

Ginny pulled her head away from her hands and looked up into his face, her own tearstained and stricken with…he couldn't place it—regret?

"I'm…s-so…sorry, Harry," she sobbed, looking at him with pleading eyes.

"Sorry? What are you talking—?"

A derisive cackle suddenly greeted Harry's ears as, with a flourish, an Invisibility Cloak was tossed aside, a wand was pressed against his throat, and Bellatrix Lestrange stood inches behind him, breathing in his ear and leering menacingly at him.

"Harry Potter," she sneered. "Oh, you're too easy. I'd like to thank you for making one of my dearest dreams come true." She cackled again. Harry stiffened.

"You see, once the Dark Lord sees what I've done for him…personally delivering baby Potter to his doorstep…oh, the rewards. I'll be favored beyond all others. Held in the highest esteem once again, exactly where I belong."

Pressing the wand harder into his throat, she pulled his own wand out of his pocket, then came around in front of him, swaying her hips confidently, a menacing, self-satisfied smile on her lips, a manic glint in her dark eyes.

"You're all mine now." She looked him up and down, the same gruesome smile on her lips, and turned to Ginny. She stowed Harry's wand inside her robes, then, with her free hand, she grabbed some of Ginny's hair and twirled it around her fingers.

"Your little girlfriend's been quite a help." She bent down as far as she could while still holding her wand to Harry's throat. "Sneaking out at night to wander around Hogsmeade is never a good idea, little girl," she breathed in Ginny's ear. "You never know what might be waiting for you."

Harry shot a brief inquiring look at Ginny, but she didn't see him. She flared up instantly, pulling her head out of Bellatrix's reach and slapping her hand away. She made an angry noise somewhere between a yell and a sneer and glared daggers at Bellatrix as she pulled away.

Bellatrix just laughed again. "Quite the little brat, aren't you? That's right, I remembered your pretty little face from the Ministry. Caused me as much trouble as any of the others that night, didn't you? But I knew you were loyal to baby Potter here, so you can imagine my delight when I found you wandering aimlessly, all by yourself, in a dark village at night. Stupid girl."

"What were _you _doing in Hogsmeade? Shouldn't you be on the run? Can't imagine the Ministry's very happy with you or your boss right now. Seems kind of dumb to show up here." Harry was livid. Watching Bellatrix talk to Ginny that way was doing nothing to calm him down and certainly didn't help him to be rational and keep his mouth shut.

Bellatrix whirled away from Ginny, a sneer on her face, and jabbed the wand harder into Harry's throat.

"Shut up, you! Not another word, or you will dearly regret it. Now," she plastered the horrid smile back on her face, "I think it's time to take a little field trip."

With that, she grabbed onto Harry's arm, sinking her nails in as hard as she could until he felt blood run down his arm, and judging by the yelp of pain that came from Bellatrix's other side, he guessed she'd done the same to Ginny.

Darkness engulfed Harry as he felt the strange, uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed through a rubber tube.

What was going on? He gasped for breath, panicking, until suddenly, he felt his feet hit a hard wooden floor.

He blinked, wincing from the pain in his arm, and took in the room around him. It was nearly as dusty as the one they had just left, though four times the size. With a jolt, he realized they had just Apparated.

The long dining table in the middle of the kitchen was still littered with plates, chairs had been pushed back haphazardly from the table, and there were footprints in the dust on the floor. The overall unkempt, dirty look of the place instantly let Harry know that the house was normally abandoned, but people were staying here now. And he didn't think those people were friends.

"Let go of me, you stupid hag!" Ginny sneered, trying to pull her arm out of Bellatrix's grasp. But Bellatrix just tightened her grip on both of their arms and dragged them out of the kitchen.

She pulled them through a living area that looked as abandoned as the kitchen, then out into a small entrance hall and up a large winding case of stairs.

When they reached the landing, Bellatrix led them down to the very last door on the left. Harry could hear her breath quicken excitedly as they made their way down the hall, and by the time they stood outside the door she was practically hyperventilating.

"Finally," she whispered so low that Harry could barely hear her, "my moment has come." She knocked.

"What is it?" came the cold, annoyed response. The familiar voice made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up.

_No wand._ That was all he could think. _No wand. I don't have my wand._

And then the door was open, and Harry was looking through it. The fireplace, the Persian rug, the window. It was the same room he had seen in his dream, the room in which Bellatrix had pleaded with Voldemort, had fallen on the ground and wailed like a little child.

He heard Ginny's breath catch. He was having a difficult time breathing as well. By the left wall, covered in shelves of dusty books, a desk had been added. Behind the desk sat Voldemort, quill poised in hand, staring at the doorway as if he were a father working in his study after a normal day of work and had just been disturbed by his pestering children. A father. The comparison made Harry's blood run cold.

Harry looked into Voldemort's snake-like face and detected, he was sure, a faint flicker of surprise in the blood-red eyes.

"How—?" But Voldemort quickly composed himself and set his gaze on Bellatrix.

"Bellatrix, _what_ do you think you are doing?" His voice was practically a whisper, low and menacing.

The surprise on Bellatrix's face was much more obvious. She made no effort to hide it.

"My lord, I—I've brought you something." She tried to keep her satisfied smile in place. "Potter is at your hands, my lord. His little girlfriend was stupid enough to run around and get herself captured, so you can do what you like with her as well."

Voldemort said nothing. His face remained stony, unfathomable. Finally, he got up, came around the desk, and crossed the room to stand in front of Bellatrix. She couldn't hold her shaky smile any longer.

"I—I thought you'd be pleased."

Voldemort looked from Bellatrix to Harry and back again, disregarding Ginny.

"Bringing them here was a foolish thing to do, Bellatrix. Foolish! A complete disregard of caution and of the measures I have taken to protect us all from prying eyes! And what's more is I did _not _ask you to go after Potter now, and in taking it upon yourself to do what I did not ask you to do, you have, in essence, disobeyed me."

Bellatrix shrank back in the doorway.

"However, you have delivered the boy to me, whatever the circumstances, and for that you will be rewarded."

Harry had never seen evil glow so brightly as it did then, sickeningly, on Bellatrix's face.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Your reward, of course, is that I will not punish you—this time."

A little of the radiant glow left Bellatrix's face, but she didn't say anything.

Voldemort whirled around and began to stride across the room to the window at the other end. While his back was turned, Harry glanced sideways, trying desperately to catch Ginny's eye. They needed a plan, and fast. But he couldn't see Ginny around Bellatrix.

_Accio wand_, he thought desperately. Nothing. He was close enough to Bellatrix that maybe, if he distracted her, or if Ginny distracted her, he could reach his wand without her noticing…

Voldemort had reached the other end of the room and turned back around to face them, his wand in his hand. He looked at Harry thoughtfully, hitting his wand lightly against the long, spindly fingers on his left hand.

"You know, Potter, you've given me more trouble than I care for in the last few days." He paused. "I should kill you for that."

His face lit up mockingly, as though he'd just had an idea. "No, come to think of it, you've given me more trouble than I care for over the last fourteen years. I should torture you for that."

He smiled, a wicked, horrible smile, fifty times worse than Bellatrix's evil grin.

"And then I should kill you."

"NO!" Ginny shrieked suddenly, surprising them all. She writhed with all her might in Bellatrix's grasp, but Bellatrix was far stronger than Harry would have guessed, and Ginny's attempts led her nowhere.

"Torture me. Leave him alone! Take me, take me instead!"

A searing pain sliced through Harry's head as a sudden vision struck him of his mother, standing in front of his crib fourteen years ago, pleading with Voldemort to take her instead of Harry, her face scared, pleading, her radiant red hair billowing around her.

The picture faded to the present, to Ginny's face, the same scared, pleading look, the same radiant red hair billowing in the same way around an equally beautiful face.

No. Ginny was not going to sacrifice herself, not the same way his mother had, not with such striking similarity. It was more than he could take.

"Ginny, shut up! Stay out of it!" He turned to Voldemort. "Fine! I don't care. Torture me, kill me, do whatever you like, but let her go. Let her go back."

Voldemort sneered. "Do you honestly not get it? I don't want _her._ I want you. I've wanted you for fourteen years. Fourteen years you've needed to die. And every year you've deserved to pay even more than the last. And now, finally, you will pay. And you will die. _Crucio!"_


	7. Saved?

Saved?

Harry heard the scream as if he were someone else, hearing it through someone else's ears. But the pain was very much his own. It sliced through every inch of him, as if it would destroy his soul once it got there, as if it would rip him to pieces and leave him as dust to join the particles already lying on the carpet.

He heard Ginny scream, too, her piercing voice mingling with his own, saw her frantic eyes in his mind's eye as he crumpled to the dusty floor of which he would surely soon be a part, writhing and twitching in pain.

_"Crucio!"_ He heard the word again, and the pain erupted again. Ginny's screaming intensified. Or was it his own? He couldn't be sure anymore.

"STOP!"

The cry was music to his ears, a balm to his wounds, which no one could see anyway. The feeling of being able to lie still was relief as he had never experienced it, despite the shock and residual pain from the curse.

Lying on the carpeted floor, Harry cracked open his eyes, and saw, to his amazement, Bellatrix, with her arms raised, appealing to Voldemort.

How could this be? Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman who had murdered Sirius. Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman who had tortured the Longbottoms. Bellatrix Lestrange, Voldemort's most faithful lap dog. And now she was trying to save him?

"My lord—I'm sorry, but I beg you to hear me for a moment. If you mean to torture the boy to death, perhaps you could question him first."

Ah. Of course. She had no intention of saving him. She wanted information.

"He knows—I'm sure he knows—the location of the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Would it not be prudent to first get the whereabouts from him, and then kill him?"

"My dear Bellatrix," Voldemort's tone was not endearing, but dripping with poison, "I had no intention of torturing him to death. I meant to punish him by torturing him, and _then_ kill him using the Killing Curse, as I said originally. In the future, pay attention. However, you do have a point."

Harry had closed his eyes again, but he heard footsteps. The sound was loud in his ears, and each step bounced his head just a little, just enough to give him a pounding headache.

With his eyes closed and the headache now pounding behind them, every sound was intensified to Harry. As Voldemort drew closer, Harry could hear his breathing, the folds of his robes crease as he bent over, thought he could even hear his heart beating, if he really had one.

He opened his eyes and saw, as he knew he would, Voldemort bent low over him, as if he were a doctor concerned for a patient. For the second time that night, Harry's stomach lurched as his mind made another unlikely comparison to Voldemort and a stereotypically caring figure.

"Harry Potter, you are no stranger to pain, especially after experiencing the effects of the Cruciatus curse. I assume you don't care to feel it again? That might be able to be arranged. Now, you are going to tell me the whereabouts of the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry clenched his teeth together, willing himself not to make a sound, not the slightest grunt of pain, not even the brush of his arm or his jeans against the carpet. He fixed his eyes on Voldemort, staring unblinkingly at him.

"What's this? You have nothing to say to me? Nothing at all? Very well…_Cruc—"_

Instead of a blast of green light and pain, there was a blast of sound. Harry jumped up as though he had not just been tortured minutes before; Ginny jumped so high her head nearly hit the ceiling, and all four of them retreated toward the back wall as the door and most of the wall that contained it were blasted apart, and a crowd of figures stood in the debris, their wands raised and pointed at Voldemort and Bellatrix.

"Drop your wands!" came the wonderfully familiar, gravelly voice of Mad-Eye Moody. "As long as you're endangering these two, I have no problem killing both of you, and there's a lot who'd thank me for it."

The debris was still clearing, and now high, cold laughter filtered through it. "You _dare_ threaten Lord Voldemort?"

Voldemort stepped forward, his wand still raised, and pointed it at Moody. Lupin, Tonks, Mr. Weasley, even Mundungus Fletcher were among the Order members who pointed their wands warningly at Voldemort, though admittedly Mundungus looked like he would be perfectly happy to turn tail and run and would not lose a second of sleep over it. His wand hand shook so badly Harry wondered whether he was really any use at all.

Moody moved forward slowly and the two faced each other, Moody in front of the other Order members, all with their wands raised, staring at Voldemort across the small expanse of what was left of the room. Behind Voldemort stood Harry and Ginny, frozen in place, wandless, watching the scene in horrified anticipation, and Bellatrix, watching the scene with…well, just with anticipation. Mad anticipation, at that.

Moody and Voldemort's eyes locked as though their stares would be enough to bring the other down, and indeed, if looks really could kill, it would be Lord Voldemort and Mad-Eye Moody who could cast the last glares in anyone's life.

As it was, nothing happened, and they seemed frozen in time, perfectly motionless, as the room held its breath.

"Haven't had enough? This is the second time in a week that we've been through this, you and Madame Lestrange, the Order and I, the same except you seem to be missing quite a bit of support…oh, that's right. Your _support_'s in Azkaban. And you want to do this again?"

Voldemort sneered. "You seem to be missing a key player as well, do not think I hadn't noticed. If your hero Dumbledore can't save you, and your other _hero_ is here without a wand, what have I, truly, to fear? Surely you are not under the impression that _you_ intimidate me? That would be a grave mistake."

They had moved closer as they talked, so now they stood so near that their noses nearly met, their grips on their wands tightened. Harry was sure no one in the room was breathing at all now.

Then, without warning, eight black-robed Death Eaters appeared, encircling those already in the room. No one had noticed Voldemort surreptitiously call his followers. There was scarcely any room to move now. There were enough Order members crowded into the room that every one of them was able to point a wand at a Death Eater, covering everyone and leaving Voldemort and Moody in the center.

A malevolent smile spread across Voldemort's face. It was truly a terrible thing to see. His eyes never left Moody's.

"I am a sympathetic person. Therefore, I will make you a deal. You leave here, you take every person in this room, except for Harry Potter, with you, and I will allow you to leave with them, unharmed. You leave me one life, you get to save the rest, including your own. And we all know how much stock the Order of the Phoenix puts in saving lives."

The room was filled with vile, appreciative laughter from the Death Eaters.

"If you think we'd leave one to die, you don't know us at all," Moody growled back.

"Very well. You've made your choice." Voldemort raised his wand. All eight Death Eaters followed suit. Nine voices spoke as one.

_"Avada—"_

But again an unforgivable curse was stopped midway, this time due to a loud _pop_ and the appearance of yet another person in the already overcrowded room. This _pop _was immediately followed by two more _pop_s, and three new figures now stood in the center of the room.

Professors Snape and McGonagall pointed their wands instinctively at Voldemort and Bellatrix, who were inside the black ring of Death Eaters encircling the room. Then the voice of the third newcomer spoke, and it was the sweetest sound Harry had heard all night.

"I know I've only just gotten here, Tom, but I will be leaving now, as will the other members of the Order of the Phoenix, and we will be taking Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley with us. Do forgive us for being so rude."


	8. An Explanation

**A/N: The bold italics is a flashback, just in case that confuses anybody.**

An Explanation

Voldemort's eyes sparkled as though he welcomed the intrusion as he switched his wand from Moody to Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore. So nice to see you. Again," he hissed. "Even _your_ luck has to run out sometime. Do you really think you can escape me twice in one week?"

"Certainly, I do, Tom," Dumbledore replied conversationally. "Although I would prefer you made the sensible decision to simply allow us to leave you, as I am really in no mood to hurt anyone."

"Allow you to leave?" Voldemort laughed, a high, cold laugh, his eyes sparkling even brighter. "I already made that offer, Dumbledore, you're a little late. However, your friend here declined my generous offer, and now that you've shown up, it's rescinded anyway."

Dumbledore just sighed. "Very well, then. I suppose we'll just have to do it your way." He raised his wand, wearily, almost lazily.

The eyes of Bellatrix and every other Death Eater in the room were fixed unblinkingly on the scene in the center, where two of the most powerful wizards in the world had their wands pointed at each other.

Suddenly a hand tightened around Harry's arm. He was careful not to flinch, afraid to move at all. He slid his gaze carefully to the side and saw that Professor McGonagall had made her way behind him; it was her grip on his arm. Surreptitiously sliding her gaze down to his, she gave him a look that warned him not to move or make a sound.

In the middle of the room, Voldemort and Dumbledore's wands were still raised, although Dumbledore looked much more alert now.

"You," Voldemort hissed, "have gotten in my way for the last time, Dumbledore." He jerked his wand hand in a sudden movement, ready to strike.

"NOW!" Dumbledore suddenly shouted at the top of his voice. Before Harry could work out what he meant or to whom he was shouting, Professor McGonagall's grip tightened even more on his arm, the room spun, and Harry felt the same peculiar, uncomfortable sensation he had felt when he had Apparated with Bellatrix.

When his feet hit the ground again, Harry found himself standing in Hogsmeade Station with Ginny and Professor McGonagall, all three of them shaking considerably.

Professor McGonagall grabbed Harry and Ginny by the arms and spun them to face her.

"Are you two alright?"

They nodded.

"Professor, how did you find us?" Harry wanted to know.

"The Hog's Head barman saw the two of you leave. He noticed something didn't look right, and alerted Dumbledore immediately. And from there, well…never you mind, the Order has its ways. Dumbledore asked me to accompany him, and as part of the Order, Professor Snape thought it necessary that he should come along, too." Her tone had darkened.

"Snape—oh, when Dumbledore has a chance to speak to him—furious…" she was muttering to herself, where Harry and Ginny could barely hear her. "But you two!" she said suddenly, raising her voice and fixing them with a sharp gaze. "What happened? How exactly did you end up in an abandoned house with You-Know-Who? Potter, honestly, every single year. Do you have to go _looking _for him?"

"I wasn't _looking for him_!" Harry flared up instantly. "He—I—well, Ginny asked me to meet her, and—"

"I didn't!" Ginny exclaimed. "She did! She wrote that letter, Harry, I never—!"

"Okay. Bellatrix wrote this letter, and she said it was from Ginny, and she said I should meet her, so I did, only then Bellatrix came, too, but she was invisible, so I didn't know she was there, and we went to this shack, and then we Apparated, and we were in this room, and Voldemort was there, and…well, then you guys showed up, and you know the rest."

Professor McGonagall stared down at him blankly. "Honestly, Potter, it's no wonder you never get top marks on your essays, if that's how you explain things. Miss Weasley, could you please enlighten me?"

Ginny shot Harry a frustrated look. "The other night, I…well, I was in Hogsmeade—"

"In Hogsmeade? At night? Why on earth—? That was a _very_ poor decision, Miss Weasley, you could be expelled for that! I have half a mind to—"

"Professor, please!" Ginny looked desperate to get this out. Professor McGonagall fell silent.

"Bellatrix was there that night. I went into the Hog's Head because…well, anyway, I went in there, and there were only a few people there. She was sitting in a corner in a cloak with the hood pulled up over her head, where no one could see her face. A lot of people in the Hog's Head keep their hoods on, so I noticed her, but I didn't really think anything of it. Anyway, so I sat down with…um, with a friend, and—"

"_You snuck out with another student?!_ I should have both of you—!"

"No, not a student, a resident of Hogsmeade! But it's not important! Anyway, after my friend left, I stayed a while…to think things over, and Bellatrix came up to my table…

_**"Mind if I sit down, dear?" the woman in the cloak asked, in a voice dripping as if with honey. Ginny looked up in surprise. **_

_**"Um…well, I really need to be going…" But the woman was already sitting down.**_

_**"What's your hurry, dear? Stay a minute. I insist." Ginny sank nervously back down in her chair. What if the woman caused a scene if she didn't obey? She didn't want attention drawn to herself now. Not here.**_

_**Apparently, the woman didn't want attention drawn to herself, either. A few moments after she had sat back down, Ginny felt something hard poking into her shin under the table and instantly recognized the feeling of a wand tip. She froze.**_

_**"Now," the woman said under her breath, her voice still dripping with a poisonous sweetness. "I really don't want to make a scene, so what say you make this simple for both of us, huh? I want you to get up from this table and walk in front of me out that door. I'll show you where to go from there."**_

_**Terrified, Ginny nodded, and began to get up from the table.**_

_**"And, dear," the woman added, "if you do try to run, I won't hesitate to kill you."**_

_**Anger boiled inside Ginny Weasley alongside her fear, but she dared not make a sound and instead made her way silently out of the pub, the woman following closely behind her, her wand held discreetly against Ginny's back, hidden by the long sleeve of her robes. Once outside the pub, the woman prodded Ginny in the back with her wand.**_

_**"Keep going. That way," she said, pushing Ginny toward a small shack in the distance. All the mock sweetness in her voice was gone now.**_

_**The woman was too close for Ginny to draw her wand. Then again, it was dark out. Maybe, if she could just…**_

_**But no, they were at the door to the shack now. The woman opened it with one hand and shoved Ginny in with the other.**_

_**She slammed the door behind her and guided Ginny over to the single chair at the old, dilapidated kitchen table.**_

_**"Sit," she hissed. Ginny obeyed.**_

_**The woman was tall. She towered over Ginny; and then, with her wand still pointing at Ginny, the woman threw her hood off, and Ginny recognized the menacing face of Bellatrix Lestrange, marred by Azkaban but still with lingering traces of its former stunning beauty.**_

_**Bellatrix grinned maliciously. "Hello, little girl."**_

_**"YOU!" Ginny shrieked. "You're that old hag who killed Sirius! You—"**_

_**"Hussshh, now…" Bellatrix hissed, her whisper full of venom, as she shoved her wand under Ginny's throat.**_

_**"Yes, I killed Sirius Black. And you helped Harry Potter. That night at the Ministry. Close friend of his, are you?"**_

_**"Yes," Ginny said defiantly, swelling with pride.**_

_**"Good," Bellatrix grinned down at her evilly, "then you're going to help me out with a little project. What do you say? Sound like fun?"**_

_**"No—"**_

_**"Wonderful. First things first. Give me your wand."**_

_**Ginny sat motionless in her chair and glared back at the woman.**_

_**"NOW." She shoved her wand hard into Ginny's throat. "Do you need to be persuaded?"**_

_**Ginny handed her wand over, but tightened her grip when Bellatrix tried to take it, so that the woman had to yank it out of her hand.**_

_**She shoved Ginny's wand inside her robes, and then, using her own wand, bound Ginny's body with ropes.**_

_**"HEY! GET THEM OFF ME! GET THEM OFF ME, YOU OLD HAG! I'LL SCREAM, I WILL—!"**_

_**With another flick of Bellatrix's wand, she fell silent.**_

_**"You won't. But you will talk, later…"**_

"…Anyway, so she kept me there that night, and the next morning she sent a letter to Harry, saying it was from me. It told him to meet me in the Hog's Head at three o'clock…"

Ginny explained the rest of the story to Professor McGonagall in minute detail.

When she was done, Professor McGonagall took a deep breath, as if she was the one who had just told the story, and stepped back to look at them.

"Well, I should say that the two of you are very lucky to be alive. Come on, now, we'd best get you back to school." She started to turn around.

"And Miss Weasley," she said suddenly, whipping back around to face them again. "If you ever sneak out of the castle at night and go wandering around Hogsmeade like that again, I assure you, the consequences will be dire."

Ginny had the grace to look ashamed of herself. She and Harry followed Professor McGonagall on foot up to the castle.

"So," Harry whispered to Ginny. "What were you doing in Hogsmeade that night, anyway?"

"Nothing," Ginny muttered, turning red. Harry raised his eyebrows but said nothing, and they followed Professor McGonagall the rest of the way back to the castle in silence.


	9. Hope

Hope

His anger was almost tangible, emanating from him as he sat motionless, seething; it worked itself into serpentine coils of fury, slithering out from him like invisible tendrils of fog, weaving itself around the ankles of the Death Eaters in the house, seeping into their bodies, constricting their hearts with fear, even as he refused to look at a single one of them. There was no doubt they could feel his anger, could sense that the end of their lives may very well be coming up far too quickly.

And yet, in the end, only one of them was called into his presence, in the room that was the scene of the offense, to stand before him as he continued to seethe. In truth, he was too disgusted with every one of them to deal with all of them tonight. So he'd decided just to deal with one who had the power to anger him most, who made his skin crawl with the slightest mistakes because he took them to be the biggest betrayals. But every piece of him cried out not to let her know that.

"Bellatrix, how many times? How many times just recently have I had to call you before me, to face you with anger—it hurts me, it truly does. Because one of these days, my patience will run out, Bellatrix, and I will be forced to remove you from this earth."

She stood before him, head bowed, sunken into herself with shame like the shy creature she was not, her dark hair falling around her face.

"Despite the fact that I did not ask you to go and bring me Harry Potter, and so, in essence, you disobeyed me by obeying an order I did not give, it did feel good to have him at my fingertips. Harry Potter, and then Albus Dumbledore. Oh yes, it felt good. So good, Bellatrix, to know that they were mere steps away from me, and minutes, maybe seconds, from their deaths."

Bellatrix had begun to look up tentatively.

"So then, Bellatrix, can you imagine—can you _begin to comprehend_—how it felt when the lot of them _vanished from my sight _yet again, thanks to the miserable lot of incompetent snakes I have chosen to surround myself with. No. Snakes is too good a word for you all. Worms, perhaps. Or mice. Helpless, worthless mice that the deserving snakes of the world would snatch up in an instant and devour."

He leaned forward now, fixing Bellatrix with a piercing stare. But she would not meet his eyes.

"Do you want to go back, Bellatrix? Back to Azkaban, with all of the mice who are even _less _competent than the ones still infesting this house? Back to Azkaban, where you would wish for the good fortune of being devoured by a snake? Because that's where you're heading Bellatrix, all of you, if you are _foolish_ enough to lead the members of the Order of the Phoenix _right to us_! Did you forget that detail, Bellatrix? Did it ever once cross your mind that by bringing Harry Potter and his little friend here you were risking our exposure?!"

Bellatrix was looking up now, indignation beginning to overtake her tearful eyes.

"I didn't expect them to FIND OUT FROM THE _BARMAN_—!"

"WELL, YOU SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED!" Voldemort exploded, standing up abruptly, pushing his chair behind him so hard it smashed into the wall. "YOU SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED ANYTHING! You're careless, Bellatrix! Do you want to be the death of us all?!"

Bellatrix was looking down again, and a tear fell from behind her dark curtain of hair onto the floor; in the ringing silence after Voldemort's rant, it sounded much louder than a single teardrop should have.

"I only wanted to do something for you. Something none of the others seemed to have the courage to do. Something to make me right in your eyes again."

She spoke softly, and then the silence continued on both sides, punctuated every now and then by another of Bellatrix's tears hitting the hardwood floor.

"Bella." It was a whisper, barely louder than a breath, but it filled the silence as nothing else could have. Bellatrix's eyes widened, her crying stopped, though she still kept her head down. Slowly, cautiously, she raised it, the last of her tears sliding down her face as she met Voldemort's eyes. A curious expression was fixed on his face—defeat, maybe even sadness.

"W-what did you call me?"

He came around the desk that separated them, crossed to her. He grasped her shoulders with his long, thin hands, held her gaze with his red slits.

"Bella—do you love me?"

-------------

Harry woke up shuddering, not with fear but with disgust, a bad taste in his mouth—and he had no idea why. Deciding that the bad taste issue was simply because he'd been too tired the night before to brush his teeth and had simply crashed, falling asleep immediately, he grabbed his toothbrush and ran to the boys' bathroom to get rid of the taste, trying to shake off the unexplained queasy feeling.

It was still very early when he headed down to the common room a few minutes later. It was practically deserted, but to his surprise, he found Ginny sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, a book open on her lap. It was still pitch-black outside, and a fire was roaring in the fireplace.

"Hi, Ginny," Harry said quietly, approaching the back of her armchair. She whipped her head around in his direction. Her eyes widened first with surprise, then changed to recognition as she realized it was him, then softened again to their normal state.

"Oh, hi, Harry. What are you doing up?" Harry shrugged and took the chair opposite her, appreciating the warmth from the fire and the glow it cast on the dark room. He felt extremely comfortable.

"I'm not exactly a stranger to being woken up by dreams."

"Is that why you're up?" Ginny's eyes widened. "It wasn't another…vision, of sorts? Did you see You-Know-Who again?"

Harry frowned. "No. It wasn't a dream. It was more of a feeling. I don't know how to explain it."

Ginny still looked worried.

"But I'm sure it was nothing," Harry hastily assured her. The last thing he needed was someone running to Dumbledore or McGonagall and telling them that Harry's was having funny feelings, now, as well as dreams. That wouldn't make him sound like a lunatic, or anything. Harry decided it would be best to change the subject, quickly.

"Hey, listen, I've been meaning to ask you…what you said to McGonagall yesterday…why _did _you sneak out? What were you doing in Hogsmeade? Please tell me. You know you can trust me to keep a secret."

Ginny sighed. "You don't want to hear it."

"Obviously I do."

"You'll think it's ridiculous."

"I won't laugh."

"You'll hate me."

"I couldn't if I wanted to."

"You're blowing this out of proportion."

"How could I blow it out of proportion? I don't even know what it is. Just tell me."

Ginny sighed again. "Fine. You know how Fred and George make a lot of their own stuff— the Skiving Snackboxes, trick wands and stuff?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, I know this lady who lives in Hogsmeade…girl really, she just left Hogwarts three years ago or so, she's friends with Fred and George, that's how I know her, through them…anyway, she told me one time about this thing she was working on, a sort of…backwards love potion. To make someone, kind of, repulsive to the person who likes them." Ginny's cheeks had turned scarlet, and it had nothing to do with the warmth from the fire. She was having trouble getting this out.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise at the trivial reason for her trip. But when he recovered, he grinned.

"What, having trouble getting one of the million guys you have wrapped around your finger to leave you be? You don't need a backwards love potion—you should have just told Fred and George, I'm sure they would have been happy to oblige. Or me and Ron, really, you know how Ron gets—"

"No!" Ginny cut him off, almost breathlessly. Her cheeks were still red. "No, it's not like that. I was trying to make a certain guy stop liking…a certain girl…"

"Well. That narrows it down…"

"I was trying to make you get over Cho, okay?!" Ginny practically yelled, and it came out all in a rush.

Harry's eyes widened again.

"Oh."

Ginny looked at him now, frozen, her eyes almost pleading…

"I—oh—well that's—"

"Harry, listen, I'm sorry. I know it was stupid, and I know you like Cho and from now on I'll stay out of it, I promise. It's not like I didn't learn my lesson."

I faint smile pulled at her mouth.

Harry was quiet for a moment as he let this all sink in.

"Cho and I aren't…really…well, we're kind of over, to be honest."

Hope lit up Ginny's pretty face.

"Look, Ginny, I'm flattered, but right now—"

And the hope was gone.

"—right now I just can't…I can't really deal with anything else. And I think if I got into a relationship with anyone—with you—I'd just end up hurting you."

It would be a long time before he would realize how much those words had cost him, and how much he was hurting himself with his attempt at nobility.


	10. Who Wants to Play?

A/N: For the record, since I haven't said it before, J.K. Rowling owns the books, the characters, etc., etc. As if you didn't know. And if you were actually so oblivious you thought I was brilliant enough to come up with all her stuff, then I thank you very much. :)

Who Wants to Play?

"Hey, dimwits. You left these lying on the floor in the Common Room," Ginny announced, walking up behind the twins and swatting Fred in the back of the head with a stack of papers, which he hastily hid away in his bag. Harry grinned.

"Did you read them?" George asked his sister.

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't, just be glad I didn't tack them up all around the room. McGonagall would've had a fit, don't you think?" Ginny asked, a smug smile on her face, as she sat down across from Harry at breakfast.

Still smirking, she poured herself a cup of coffee, which she didn't drink right away, but held in her hands as if trying to keep warm. It was chilly this morning.

"So you did read them."

"Again, you should be thanking me."

Harry met Ginny's eyes, grinning. She grinned back, then quickly let her eyes fall to the table, seeming to study the wooden table intently.

Fred and George noticed this exchange—however careless they might be about leaving contraband papers, or flyers, or whatever they were, out in the open, they weren't completely oblivious. Their eyes flickered back and forth between Ginny and Harry, both pairs in sync, back and forth, back and forth. It was kind of amusing to watch.

"Well! We've got a little time before first lesson starts, and I…think I left something in the Common Room. George! Care to help me look for it?"

"For what?"

"That thing."

"What thing?"

"That thing I told you about…"

…

"Oh! Right. _That_ thing. I think it's in the dormitory, mate, I _told _you not to leave it lying around…"

"You mean like your flyers?"

"They're not my flyers, they were _your _idea."

"And what a brilliant idea it was."

"And_you _left them lying around. I just made them look good…"

"Almost as brilliant as switching McGonagall's wand, which, in case you forgot, was also _my _idea…"

Their bickering was lost in the general chatter as they strode out of the Great Hall, Ginny and Harry watching them go.

"Kind of off today, aren't they?" Harry asked, still watching the twins' retreating backs. "They never argue."

Ginny grinned. "Oh, they're just in a bad mood 'cause McGonagall found the trick wand Fred put on her desk, and she gave George detention. Took her three hours to find her real wand. I heard she had to put her class on hold and everything, it was brilliant. Anyway, George got the detention, so Fred was mad at George for getting the credit for _his_ prank, and George argued back, and…" She waved her hand as if to say, 'You can guess the rest.'

"Wait." Harry grinned. "So George isn't angry because he got a detention for something Fred did. _Fred's_ angry because George got the detention instead of him?"

"For a prank that _he_ pulled. Yeah. It's stupid, I know. What can I say? They're idiots." She grinned, looking down at the table. "They're nice idiots, though."

Harry laughed, and he looked down, too. Neither of them said anything for a minute.

"Listen, Ginny, about last night…"

"Harry, it's fine, all right? I mean it."

Harry looked up, meeting her eyes. Ginny was smiling at him, kind of sadly, but it was a sincere smile nonetheless.

"I—okay." The thing was, Harry wasn't sure _he_ had meant it. He thought he had, but after going back to bed last night, he'd dreamed, and these dreams weren't really dreams, but rather memories. Memories of Ginny smiling at him, blushing around him when she was younger, memories of Ginny telling Ron off, of her trying out a new trick she'd learned from Fred and George, and taking the blame when they got in trouble for it.

Those memories were already starting to haunt him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that she looked even more beautiful than usual this morning, sitting across from him, smiling.

"Harry," Ginny said suddenly, and he noticed that her smile had changed to a look of worry.

"Harry, did you—did you have any strange dreams last night?"

Harry spit out the pumpkin juice he was drinking, spraying it across the table.

"Did I what?—Sorry—Why would you ask that?"

Wrinkling her nose, Ginny helped Harry mop up the pumpkin juice on the table. Fortunately for Harry, she was too absorbed in the task to notice his face, which was glowing red with embarrassment.

"It's just that last night I had this dream—well I don't know if you could call it a dream really, it was just a voice. A voice and blackness."

"A voice? What did it say?"

Ginny thought back.

_**Harry Potter, little girl?**_

_**How far? How far would you go for him?**_

_**He almost cost you your life, didn't he?**_

_**And still you pine for him.**_

_**And what about that little Ravenclaw girl?**_

_**He chose her over you.**_

_**He didn't love you.**_

_**He didn't love you, Ginny Weasley.**_

_**He should pay for that, don't you think?**_

_**Break his heart.**_

_**Break his heart, and make him pay…**_

Ginny smoothed over some of the details, but she told Harry what she could without drowning in embarrassment, and when she was done, Harry was staring down at the table, but his eyes were wide with fear.

"Ginny…"

Fear clutched at his heart.

"What did the voice sound like?"

"It was…cold. High-pitched. I don't know, it was strange."

The fear that had been clutching at Harry's heart was now threatening to rip it in half.

_Use Bellatrix to defeat Voldemort._

Harry slowly raised his head to look at Ginny, his fear on display in his eyes.

"He's trying to beat me at my own game."

A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry it's been so long! See? I haven't abandoned it. PLEASE review:)


	11. Loved and Betrayed

Disclaimer: No, I still don't own Harry Potter. Are you shocked?

Loved and Betrayed

Bellatrix stood on her sister's doorstep, shivering in the cold, hugging her cloak tight around her to keep out the chill and crush the pain in her slowly breaking heart. She swore she could feel it rip, starting at the top and ripping in half, slowly, slowly down the center, cutting off the flow of blood to her hands, her feet, every part of her that felt numb with shock, even her head, which was beginning to swim so badly she thought she wood pass out right there on the doorstep.

_Come on, Narcissa. Where are you when I need you?_

Bellatrix stared at the closed door in front of her, thinking back to what she could hardly believe had been just a few hours ago...

**"Bella…do you love me?"**

**She stared in wonder at the man she had loved as a girl, the man she loved now more than any person in the world, barely comprehending what he was saying.**

**"Do I—what?"**

**He stared down at her, the red slits of his eyes piercing as ever, his gaze never wavering from hers, and she began to panic. Perhaps she'd heard him wrong. Perhaps he was testing her. She was afraid to move, to speak, and suddenly she feared he would think her insolent for her earlier outburst.**

**"My—my lord," she added, stammering in her nervousness.**

**But he shocked her with his response, as only he was able to do. **

**"Bellatrix, I do not wish to be solely "your lord" anymore." His voice was a whisper, quiet, uncertain even, as light to her ears as the cool breeze coming in from the window brushing against her face.**

**She blinked up at him in shock, at a complete loss for words. He pulled back from her, a very uncharacteristic uneasy, nervous look on his face. He seemed frustrated with himself, and it seemed she was not the only one at a loss for what to say. It was as if he was a schoolboy trying to ask a girl he he'd taken an interest in to an upcoming dance. She had never seen this side of him, not even when they were at school, and she watched in surprise now as he turned from her, back toward his desk, as if collecting his thoughts.**

**"I've thought a lot about what you said," he told her, keeping his back to her but turning his head slightly to the right, so she could almost see his profile. "That night after the-the struggle at the Ministry."**

**Bellatrix hid her surprise. She had never heard him stutter before, not even slightly. Yet she smiled to herself at the word 'struggle', noticing that even now, in his attempt to find the right words to say to her, even now he was too prideful to concede that they had been slaughtered at the Ministry. 'Struggle' was the understatement of the year. But of course he would never admit that, and she loved that about him, his determination to believe that he was invincible. These thoughts were the reason that her beautiful scarlet mouth, the one part of her that had been untainted by Azkaban, was upturned in half a smile when he did turn around, staring at her with a look that said unmistakably that he, for once, was looking for acceptance, indeed, was desperate for it, rather than giving it or refusing to give it. What a strange change it was already, this Tom Riddle, and he had said no more than a few words to her.**

**"Bella—" his voice was rough, pleading, as he crossed the room and grabbed her by the shoulders once more, though harder now, as if he wanted badly to shake her. "Bella, whatever I have said, whatever I have done, do not make the mistake of thinking that I have no memory of our time together at Hogwarts, of the way we were before. The day you married Rodolphus I thought every piece of my soul—and there are many—would shatter then and there, and I would die without you. I wanted to kill him on the spot, but I refrained, thinking he could be useful later, a faithful Death Eater, and also as a favor to you. Because I cared for you, Bella, and I couldn't bear—"**

**-Here his voice softened, back to a whisper, his gaze intensified, catching her own and keeping her eyes fixed to his by some unknown, unrelenting power outside of either of their control-**

**"—I couldn't bear to make you cry." **

**As she continued to stare at him, the look of amazement never leaving her face—a look that, curiously, seemed to return more of the youth and beauty from her pre-Azkaban days to her features—she saw not the face of Lord Voldemort, but the captivating face of Tom Riddle again, the handsome, dark-haired boy who had stolen her heart so many years ago.**

_**And then he broke it**_**, an unbidden voice in her head reminded her.**

_**He stole your heart, and then he broke it, don't forget, Bellatrix.**_

**But she pushed the voice away angrily, focusing only on Tom, on his face as it drew nearer, nearer to hers…**

**Until he was kissing her, and it was unlike any kiss she'd ever experienced before, unparalleled even by any kiss he had ever given her, hard, rough at first, as if she'd almost died, as if he'd almost lost her forever and now poured out all his relief and joy at having her back, safe in his arms. But then it changed, and now he kissed her slowly, gently, as though she was more important than anything to him, and he wanted to cherish her, and show her how much he loved her, something that, despite everything, he still couldn't phrase in words because he still saw love as a weakness, though you wouldn't have guessed it from this kiss. It was even gentler than his voice had been earlier, gentler than the cool breeze she could still feel brushing against her face, though admittedly it was almost lost against the heat now flooding her face from emotions she thought she had lost when her husband died. **

**Her husband. And suddenly, something clicked. **_**'A favor to you…'**_

**She pulled back abruptly, eyes snapping open. "Wait. You said you let Rodolphus live as a favor to me, but…" she trailed off.**

**"But what, Bella?" He reached out and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear.**

**"I just—" she looked up, meeting his eyes, mustering her confidence. She had to know.**

**"Tom, what happened to Rodolphus?" Her voice was hard now, determined. Voldemort pulled back slightly, surprised by her question, and in that moment she couldn't help but note how strange it was that she could see his surprise, that it was unmasked for once. He truly had let down his guard, had knocked down all the brick walls he had built around himself and in between himself and her.**

**"Bella, does it matter? We're here now, together, as it should be, as you know it should be, Bella, and should always have been. What did he do, really, but come between us?"**

**She pulled back even further from him now, a coldness seeping into her body and freezing the heat of emotion she had felt moments ago. She looked up at him now with a face full of shock as the horror of his words set in, though she knew that, deep down, she had really known the truth all along. It had just never hit her as hard as it did now, maybe never even mattered as much as it mattered now.**

**But she had to hear him say it.**

**"Tom.**_**What happened to my husband?**_**" Her voice had regained the menacing tone that struck fear into the hearts of her enemies and almost anyone who decided to cross Bellatrix Lestrange.**

**But now Voldemort changed his voice as well, regaining the power and authority that made people shake in his presence, enemies or not. And it was not just his voice that changed. His eyes hardened again, and Bellatrix could almost see him put all the walls back around him, see him slip behind the mask that hid his emotions, the mask that he had so perfected over the years. When he spoke, it was in a low, dangerous hiss.**

**"I killed him, Bellatrix, if you are so **_**eager**_** to know. I made him suffer as I had suffered for so long, equaling in physical pain the loss that I had endured. Though I see now that it was for nothing. If you are still so willing to waste yourself on that worthless rat, then I have wasted time and pain on you that you clearly never deserved. I have endured the sight of you for far too long, Bellatrix Lestrange, and now you have finally pushed me to my limit. **_**Get. Out.**_** I want you out of this house, out of my sight, out of my protection, and once and for all, out of my thoughts." He was shaking with anger now, but his voice barely rose above a menacing whisper. **

**Bellatrix stood still for a moment, but she was so filled with anger, with hurt at his betrayal, that she didn't even feel shock. Nor did she feel any desire at that moment to remain in the same house as him, let alone the same room, so she was perfectly willing to follow his orders. And then, suddenly, something else he had said popped into her head. **_**'I couldn't bear to see you cry,'**_** he'd told her, and as she remembered these words she had to fight back a bitter laugh. **_**Couldn't bear to see her cry?**_** He had made her cry so many times she'd lost track. And the absolute lunacy of it all, the depth of his betrayal, truly hit her then, as she met his eyes, feeling strong from her anger, but under that strength, brittle and breakable from the pain.**

**She gave him a look that, on the outside, was cold, dead, devoid of any emotion. **

**"Goodbye, Tom." She tried not to let her voice shake.**

"NARCISSA. NARCISSA, OPEN THE DOOR!" She was screaming now, heartbroken and desperate, desperate to escape every memory of Tom Riddle and to escape the unbearable pain she felt now, tears streaming down her face in torrents.

A/N: Yes, I realize this may have made some people angry. Sorry if it didn't go the way you wanted it to, but I'm kinda writing this as I go, I don't really have the whole thing planned out, and…you never know. Anyway, PLEASE REVIEW! And thank you to all those of you who have been reviewing. I absolutely love you. :)


	12. Interruption

Interruption

A light flicked on upstairs. Footsteps. Another light, this one closer to the front of the house. The door flew open, a panicked, pretty face framed by white-blonde hair greeted Bellatrix's dark, worn one.

"Bella! What's wrong?"

"The Dark Lord—he…" Sniffle.

"He what? Does he need our help? Oh, Bella, what's happened?" Her blue eyes were wide with fear.

"He—he—OH HE MAKES ME SO MAD SOMETIMES I COULD CURSE HIM INTO OBLIVION!" Bellatrix erupted suddenly, storming past a shocked Narcissa into the tiled foyer of the great house.

Narcissa closed the door tentatively behind her sister, still watching her with a shocked expression on her face. This was not what she had expected.

"Bella," she scolded firmly, "it's not like you to speak of the Dark Lord in such a way. Be respectful or hold your tongue."

"RESPECT??!" Bellatrix raged. "RESPECT??! Respect is earned, my dear sister, and the only thing that man has earned is—oooh, but fine, if you wish me to hold my tongue, then I will hold my tongue and say nothing more about it."

There was an awkward, dead silence for a few moments that seemed to stretch forever. Finally, curiosity got the best of Narcissa. She looked around nervously for a moment, as if expecting to see eavesdroppers peeking around the banister or out from behind a curtain.

"All right, come in here." She led Bellatrix into a lavishly furnished sitting room off the foyer.

"Sit down. Tell me everything." Narcissa spoke in a whisper, still seeming nervous, but with excitement and curiosity now edging their way into her voice.

Bellatrix sat on the couch opposite the armchair in which Narcissa sat. She had to take a few breaths to calm herself. Narcissa waited expectantly.

"He may be the greatest leader of all time, Cissy, but he is still, first and foremost, a man, and after tonight I think I've seen all of Tom Riddle I ever want to see."

Despite her anger, Bellatrix had lowered her voice, speaking slightly more hesitantly now. It felt strange to be speaking about him like this. She hadn't spoken this way since she and Riddle had been at Hogwarts. But she remembered then, how many times she'd come to Narcissa in a rage, venting until she ran out of breath. And Narcissa had always listened, patiently, silently. Tom did this. Tom did that. Tom was late again. Tom forgot our three-week anniversary. Etcetera, etcetera.

Now she felt like a schoolgirl again, venting to her sister and closest friend about a frustrating boyfriend. Although now, of course, so much had changed. Now there was so much more power involved, so many more enemies, so many more lives that had been lost along the way because somewhere someone had made a mistake, someone had gotten angry with Lord Voldemort and vented to a friend just as Bellatrix was doing now. Neither she nor Narcissa could refrain completely from glancing around periodically, looking over their shoulders, keeping their voices down. Just in case.

"He kissed me, Cissy. Kissed me and asked if I loved him. He acted like a teenager tonight. I don't even know what to think of it." Bellatrix laughed aloud, running her hands over her tired face and leaning back against the couch. "I saw Tom Riddle again tonight. I saw the boy I fell in love with ages ago. I saw a human being capable of feeling." She couldn't keep the smile from her face as she said these things, staring at the floor in reminiscence. But slowly her eyes became sharp, her face hardened.

"But I also saw a liar. A hypocrite. I saw the man who murdered my husband and wouldn't tell me the truth about it. Not for months. Dark Lord or not, no one lies to _me_."

"You forget your place, Bella," Narcissa said quietly. "Beneath him."

Bellatrix focused her black eyes on her sister. "How can you be so humble? You do realize that he's the reason your husband is now in Azkaban, for who knows how long. He's the reason, Narcissa, that tonight when I leave you will fall asleep in an empty bed. The reason that this summer, when Draco comes home from school, there will be no father here to welcome him with open arms."

Narcissa's eyes were welling up with tears. "Don't say that. Please, don't say those things."

But there were tears in Bellatrix's eyes by this point, too. Any way you looked at it, they had both been hurt by the same man, greatest dark wizard of all time or not. Bellatrix motioned for Narcissa to come sit on the couch next to her, and the sisters consoled each other, two strong women crying for the men they had lost.

* * *

A sweet, flowery scent. The kitchen at the burrow. Laughter. A streak of red hair. Harry tossed and turned, trying to make sense of it all, until his eyes flew open suddenly, and he sat upright in bed, letting his head clear, the flowery scent still lingering in his nostrils.

He ran his hands over his face, trying to rid himself of the hazy feeling of sleep. It didn't take long. Once the images from his dream registered, frustration quickly took over, and sleepiness was no longer an issue.

He hated himself for thinking about her, for being unable to get her out of his head, out of his dreams. She was probably dating some new guy now—she usually was—and anyway, he didn't have time for this. Didn't have time for her. Hadn't he made that clear to her, just a few nights before? Why couldn't he make it clear to himself?

Harry walked down to breakfast the next morning bleary-eyed and groggy. He been unable to fall back asleep for hours after waking up the night before, and he knew he was going to pay for it today.

In the Great Hall, Harry walked toward an empty seat, but tripped on his robe just before he reached the spot. He caught himself before slamming head-first into the floor and, looking up, caught sight of Ginny, who was staring at him first with a panicked expression and then, seeing that he was all right, with a grin spread across her face.

"All right, Harry?"

"Yeah. Fine," Harry mumbled, taking the seat next to her and hoping the burn in his cheeks would subside before she noticed it.

All throughout breakfast, Harry was overly aware of Ginny's presence next to him, every time she moved, every time she laughed, every time her hand accidentally moved closer to his, and this heightened awareness of her frustrated him to no end. That was it. He had to do something about this.

"Ginny—"

But a loud screeching sound filled the hall at that moment, and hundreds of owls swooped in, capturing everyone's attention, including Ginny's, and making a good deal of noise. So Harry's question went unasked for the time being.

Throughout the day, he tried to ask again. And again. And one more time, but every time, something happened at that precise moment to distract her attention from him, so dinnertime rolled around, and Harry had yet to ask Ginny what he'd been trying to ask all day. By the time he stumbled into the Great Hall for dinner, he was so frustrated and tired he thought about just forgetting the whole thing.

But it had been a long day for everyone, and the Gryffindor table was unusually quiet that night. So, finally, Harry leaned in to whisper to Ginny, who was sitting right beside him again.

"Hey, Ginny. Would you mind…taking a walk with me for a little while after dinner?"

Ginny's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she smiled warmly at him and met his eyes with a look of total confidence and completely devoid of nervousness or embarrassment.

Harry wished he could say he did the same, but his cheeks were burning again. It annoyed him more than anything. This whole thing annoyed him. Between these feelings for Ginny that seemed to be creeping up in him and his annoyance with those feelings, he wasn't really sure what he wanted to say to her tonight. But either way, he felt like he had to say something.

When everyone was almost done eating, Ginny turned to Harry with a questioning look. He nodded in return, and the two left the Great Hall together. A few heads turned to watch them curiously, mostly red ones and one bushy brown one, but for the most part they went unnoticed.

Outside, the night was warm and breezy, the sky overhead was perfectly clear, and the stars shone so brightly it looked as though they could have reached up and touched one.

They walked towards the outer edges of the grounds, strolling leisurely, Harry's hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the ground. Neither knew what to say.

"So…what's up, Harry?" Ginny broke the silence finally.

"Well, you know, I just…I wanted to talk to you."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "About…?" she pressed.

Silence.

"Did you do that Potions essay Snape assigned us last week?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "You wanted me to come on a walk with you to ask me about a Potions essay." It wasn't a question. She saw right through him.

"Well…okay, Ginny, listen." Harry stopped walking and turned to face her, finally looking her in the eye. Big mistake. He just about lost all his courage under the penetrating gaze of her beautiful green eyes.

"I am listening. I've been listening for years, Harry. Waiting for you to talk. But you won't say anything."

And with that statement, Harry began to understand that he wasn't the only frustrated one. Only that her frustration had clearly lasted much longer than a day.

"I'm trying to talk now."

"Well, I'm still listening."

"Okay." Harry took a deep breath. "About what you said the other night. About wanting Cho and I to break up, and…all of that…"

"Yes…?"

But Harry wasn't looking at her anymore. Instead, he was squinting into the darkness. Something had caught his eye. A flash of movement. A long black cloak. The figure was outside the Hogwarts gates, and Harry saw it, or rather, _her_, over Ginny's shoulder, so Ginny didn't see the person.

Harry squinted harder, focusing. He could see her more clearly now. But surely the darkness was playing tricks on his eyes.

Bellatrix?


	13. Reminiscence

Reminiscence

"Harry?_Harry_." Ginny scrutinized him carefully. "What is it?"

She began to turn around, but Harry quickly shifted his focus to her and grabbed her by the arm.

"Ginny!"

Her eyes flickered down to his hand around her arm and next instant to his eyes, her gaze a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

"What—?"

"Listen, I just remembered, I, uh—I left my invisibility cloak in the Room of Requirement, and I would go get it, but I have something really important to tell Hagrid, and I have to tell him right now because he's about to leave, so do you think you could go get it for me? Please?"

Ginny blinked at him.

"What,_now_? Are you serious?"

Harry made the mistake at that instant of letting his eyes flicker back to the dark figure behind Ginny. And Ginny noticed.

She began to turn again, and once again, Harry seized her by the arm, stopping her.

"Yes, Ginny, now. _Please_. I know this is sudden and doesn't sound like it makes any sense, but you have no idea how important this is."

Ginny gave him another suspicious look, and then sighed, resigned.

"Okay, Harry. I'll go get your cloak. You go talk to Hagrid."

Harry said nothing as she stalked past him. He watched her anxiously until she was almost to the front doors of the school, and then ran to a clump of bushes near the gates, crouching down behind it.

Then he took his invisibility cloak out of his pocket and threw it over himself. She was moving closer to him now, walking slowly…

* * *

Bellatrix didn't take her eyes off the school as she strolled along outside the gates, absentmindedly brushing the bars with her fingers, lost in thought. Every once in a while, a sob escaped her throat, but she did her best to stifle her tears.

Tonight, she wasn't here for Harry Potter. She wasn't here for revenge, and she certainly wasn't here to do her master any favors. No, tonight she was only here for herself. She had been hurt and needed badly to heal.

Memory after memory flashed in front of her eyes as she stared at the oak front doors that she had first walked through so many years ago. That was her first memory—the memory of herself as an eleven-year old girl, a jet-black ponytail to match her black robes, her eyes wide with curiosity as she stepped over the threshold into the place that would teach her what she needed to know to become who she was today. How innocent she'd been then. How unbelievably naïve. And look where she was today. It was unreal.

And then, of course, she was sorted into Slytherin and began her first year at Hogwarts. And with each passing year, she gained more knowledge, more influence within the school, and with those gains came the loss of the naïveté, the loss of innocent curiosity. But not the loss of curiosity itself. Oh, no, she was certainly still curious. She gained curiosity as the years passed, but it was no longer the simple eager yearning to go to her next lesson, to listen intently to the professors and perform her tasks to the best of her ability, hoping for praise. No, instead that curiosity turned into curiosity to see how far she could push others, how far she could make them go for her. All the insignificant ones, the students no one paid attention to who would do anything just to be recognized—they were the ones Bellatrix used. They would lie for her, steal for her, even curse another student for her, all with smiles on their faces at the possibility of admiration for doing Bellatrix's bidding. They were only laughed at, of course, never admired. But they never knew the difference.

She was curious to discover new, twisted ways to use her powers. She learned dark magic from the students who knew a little of it. There wasn't much knowledge of the Dark Arts to be found at Hogwarts, but she learned what she could and practiced constantly. It began as a simple curiosity to see how this side of magic worked, but she was quickly sucked in, and she had never gotten out again.

And then a young man named Tom Riddle came along. When she met him everything changed. He was tall and beautiful and made her heart skip a beat. He elevated her social status by simply walking down the hall with her. She felt like one of the insignificants around him, just longing for praise. And that much had never changed, really, not after all these years. He taught her magic she couldn't have imagined, made her promises that made her head swim. These promises included not only promises of power she could have if she stuck with him, but as their friendship progressed and slowly turned to something else, he made her more personal promises. Simple promises such as meeting her after dark by the lake, where they would spend hours sitting on the bank together, often discussing his ideas for the future, many of which were so complicated and far-fetched that Bellatrix had trouble getting her head around them. Eventually, his promises were more along the lines of their future together after Hogwarts, the life they would have, with him as the most powerful dark wizard in the world, reigning over all other wizards, with her by his side.

And that was his plan, from the beginning, it seemed. A hierarchy in which he was at the top, with her equal to or perhaps slightly below him, pureblood wizards under them, and muggles and mudbloods under the pureblood wizards.

And she accepted it—she accepted his plan for the world along with all of his other crazy ideas and at the same time handed her heart over to him.

But now she stood alone, again, missing what was and what could possibly have been, thinking, again, how foolish she was to let him pull her in the way only he could. She was Bellatrix Lestrange, for goodness' sake, and he made her as weak as a mouse.

Bellatrix looked back up at the school, trying to pull herself back into reality. She knew this was crazy and that if she was caught, especially by Dumbledore, she was done for. And she was so tired of Azkaban.

She also knew that this wasn't helping. It was a lie to tell herself she was doing this to heal. But she told it anyway.

Bellatrix stopped in front of the gates and wrapped her hands around two of the bars, resting her head against the gate and closing her eyes, not sure now if she wanted to remember or suppress the memories.

"Don't move."

The voice was young and a little shaky, but the words were spoken with determined confidence.

Bellatrix's eyes flashed open to see a wand inches from her face, on the other side of the black bars, attached to the arm of someone quite familiar. Someone she did not particularly want to see right now.

**A/N: Okay, that's chapter 13! Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading and reviewing! Please don't stop:)**


	14. An Unforeseen Turn of Events

An Unforeseen Turn of Events

For a split second, it registered in Harry's mind how strange the expression on Bellatrix's face seemed. She looked weary, resigned, and more human than she had ever seemed to him before. He waited for it to be replaced by the degrading sneer that was so natural on her once-pretty face. But the change didn't come.

Instead she met his eyes with her own, fixing him with a sad, deadened stare. But a stare he couldn't look away from.

"Do you know how to use that, boy?" Harry almost dropped his wand in shock at her voice, which came out in barely a whisper, as tired and weary as her expression. "I mean, do you _really_ know how to use that?"

"Of course I know how to use it. And I will, so don't provoke me."

She let out a weary, bitter laugh, pulling away from the bars, heedless of the wand pointed at her. She began to walk slowly, looking straight ahead and speaking to him with a small, ironic smile on her face.

"Oh, I don't think you do. Do you know what it means to cause so much pain that whenever your own life begins to fall apart, you don't just feel that pain, you feel your own pain and the pain of everyone else you've hurt piled on top of it? Not out of sympathy. Not out of remorse. It doesn't have to be. You just feel the pain. Just pure pain." She stopped then and turned to him. "But what have you cursed with that wand? Not much."

"You don't know that. I've cursed Voldemort, for starters."

"Disarming doesn't count, Potter. Surely you know that. And you could never curse the Dark Lord, or anyone else, for that matter. Even me. Do you remember what I told you, Potter? About using an Unforgivable Curse, I mean?"

"You said I had to want it."

"You have to really want it. You have to want to cause unimaginable pain. And there's not enough evil in you to want to cause that kind of pain."

"I don't have to be evil to want to cause you pain. I just have to be angry. You took Sirius away from me, do you really think I'm not mad enough to curse you into the ground, you dirty, rotten—!"

"Watch it now. You forget, I've got a lot more experience with one of those pretty little tree branches than you do."

"Except my 'pretty little tree branch' is out and pointed at you. And if you try to reach for yours, I won't give you half a chance."

Just then a sharp cry, sounding like a bird of some kind, cut into the silence of the night. Harry jumped, and without thinking, jerked his head up, looking at the sky for a split second before realizing what he was doing and looking back at Bellatrix.

But that split second had been enough. Her wand was out, pointing under his chin. Neither said anything for a moment, until her sinister whisper filled the night again.

"I will always be quicker than you, Harry Potter. I will always be more knowledgeable. And I will always be more experienced. Do not try me, child."

Harry just looked at her. Her words sounded strange. They weren't a threat, really. They were more fair warning. They both just stood there, looking at each other, until finally, she spoke.

"I don't want to fight tonight, Harry Potter. I came here tonight to take care of something else. You are of little interest to me now. And I'm perfectly willing to let you walk away alive. But keep pointing that wand at me, and my mercy may run out."

Harry stood frozen and just blinked at her. What was she talking about? Willing to let him walk away? What had come over her?

"…Why." It didn't come out sounding like a question. His voice was full of distrust.

"You have two options now. Life or death. Explanations is not one of them."

"You don't want to kill me, or you would have done it already. I want to know why."

Bellatrix let out another bitter laugh. "Oh, you do try your luck, boy. But I can respect risk-taking. Why? Because I just don't care, Harry Potter. Are you so high and mighty that you think you're worth the world to me? I don't _care_ if you live or die."

"But he does. And you care about him."

There was a sharp flash of light and Harry was knocked backwards off his feet.

"That's none of your business!" she sneered.

Harry scrambled back onto his feet, never taking his eyes off her, realizing now how to get to her. If he could just push her enough, but not too far…

"But you do. I know you do, or you wouldn't even be here looking for me."

She did something surprising then. Instead of trying to curse him or disarm him, she let her wand fall, threw back her head and laughed aloud, turning from the fence as she did so.

"Oh, you're all the SAME! Even at this age, it's incredible to me! You boys, you men—you're really all just boys, it seems—with your blinding arrogance! You don't see anything through your own self-absorbed view of the world!"

She turned back to the bars, raising her wand again, but lazily. "I told you before, I'm not here for you. I know it's a difficult concept to grasp, but from time to time, people do focus on something other than you."

"Then why are you here?"

"Two options."

"And yet, I've nagged you for the last five minutes, and I'm still standing."

"And I still don't care. Remember?"

She sighed, bored, and stuck her wand through the bars, pointing at him.

"Okay, boy, you have until the count of three to turn around and head back to your safe little school. One…"

Harry hesitated for a second, then took a couple steps toward her. Her face showed nothing.

"Two…the doors are _that_ way…"

Another step. He was right in front of her now…

"Three."

And grinning in her face, a careless, wild grin, as if he didn't care if he lived or died, either. But his heart was pounding behind his chest. He'd just realized that he'd touched on an answer earlier, and now he wanted to hear the rest of it.

"Go ahead. You know you want to kill me. Because that's really why you're here. To make him proud. That's all you live for, isn't it, Bellatrix?"

Just as he'd hoped, she snapped. She let out a scream of rage and blasted him off of his feet again. He flew through the air and landed on the ground several feet away from her. By the time he'd cleared his head enough to focus on her again, she was raging at him.

"OF COURSE! THAT'S RIGHT, _TOM RIDDLE_ IS ALL I LIVE FOR! BECAUSE JUST LIKE AN ARROGANT LITTLE BOY, HE KNOWS HE'S ALL THAT COULD POSSIBLY MATTER! HOW COULD I EVER WANT ANYTHING ELSE BUT TO DO HIS BIDDING, TO DEVOTE MY LIFE TO HIM?! AND EVEN HIS WORST ENEMY HAS GOT HIMSELF CONVINCED THAT THE ONLY REASON I EXIST IS FOR MY LIFE TO REVOLVE AROUND A MAN! OH, YOU REALLY _ARE_ ALL THE SAME!"  
"BUT IT'S TRUE, ISN'T IT?! AS PATHETIC AND RIDICULOUS AS IT SOUNDS, IT'S ALL THE TRUTH, YOU DO LIVE FOR HIM!"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH BEFORE I CURSE IT OFF!"

"AND I WAS RIGHT, TOO. YOU CAME HERE FOR HIM! TO GET ME, TO MAKE HIM PROUD! SO YOU FEEL LIKE YOUR PATHETIC LIFE IS WORTH SOMETHING!"

"WRONG! STUPID, SELF-ABSORBED BOY! I CAME HERE TO FORGET—!"

Silence. Harry got up off his feet again. He started walking toward her. She didn't move.

"To forget what?"

She started to raise her arm again, an angry glint in her eyes and a strangled cry escaping her throat. But before she could even point her wand, Harry's hand shot through the bars and caught her arm in the air, so her wand remained pointed at the starry sky.

Bellatrix's eyes revealed surprise for a split second, which was replaced a moment later by the more-familiar angry sneer. But Harry had her arm in a tighter grip than she would have guessed he was capable of, and she couldn't move it. She reached around with her other arm to pry his off her wand arm.

"No!" He seized her that arm, too. She was caught, unable to move her arms simply by the stubborn willpower and surprising strength of a teenage boy.

"Let go of me, you little wretch!"

"Forget _what_?"

"I said, LET—!"

"Forget him? That's what you meant, isn't it? You were trying to forget Voldemort."

"I wasn't! It's none of your business!! HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND—?"

"You were! I know you were! Because no matter what you are, he will always be worse! No matter what kind of terrible person you've turned yourself into, he will always be more terrible! And he's getting to you, admit it!"

"NO!"

"HE IS! And you think I couldn't understand forgetting Voldemort?? ME, of all people? He killed my family, why on earth would I want to remember someone who destroyed my life? And I don't know what he did to push you over the edge, but part of you came here tonight hating him! Because even you aren't that evil, and he finally hurt you, didn't he? DIDN'T HE?!"

"FINALLY? FINALLY? Oh, you know NOTHING! Finally hurt me? He's hurt me for so many years I've lost count! HE—"

She broke off as though she would clap a hand over her mouth. And she stood there, staring at the eyes of her teenage captor, both silent, panting in anger, part of them wanting to kill the other, but both wanting to kill someone else more.

And in that strange, common bond there lay a solution.


	15. Trying

Trying

She paced back and forth impatiently, her black cloak drawn tightly against her body, her shoes clicking against the wooden floorboards with every annoyed step. Harry was sitting at the rickety old table in the center of the dusty, dilapidated room, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment and trying to ignore her.

He'd found the old, one-room shack on a Hogsmeade trip last year, on the outskirts of the village. It stood in plain sight and yet was so plain that it was completely hidden. And now it was going to come in handy.

Harry tried to focus on his letter, but the irony of his present situation distracted him. Never in a million years did he think he would ever collaborate with Bellatrix. And now here they were. She was annoyed, he was tense, she wasn't helping with anything at the moment, neither would look at each other, and yet, this was closer to an alliance than either would ever have imagined themselves forming.

Nevertheless, he cringed when the clicking of her shoes resounded louder in his ears as she drew closer behind him, and he couldn't help recoiling when her arm nearly brushed him as she reached over his shoulder and snatched the piece of parchment off the table.

"Hey! Give it back. I'm not done with that."

She looked up from the paper and stared at him. It wasn't even a glare—just a cold, wide-eyed stare, daring him to speak again. That's all she did, but it was enough to shut him up.

Bellatrix's brow creased in irritation as her eyes scanned the page. When she was done, she threw it back onto the table with a sneer.

"That will never work."

"Of course it'll work." He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

"You are such a child, Potter. I should have known not to let a child do anything that concerns the Dark Lord."

"You're gonna have to get over calling him that."

"I'll call him whatever I want."

"You hate the power he has over you, and yet you still want to call him 'lord'?"

Silence.

"Rewrite it."

Harry tried not to tremble with irritation. "There's nothing wrong with my letter."

He reached for his wand just a split second after she did.

"Expelliarmus!" It was Harry's wand that flew across the room and hit the ground in front of the unused fireplace.

Bellatrix sighed. "When will you learn, boy?"

Harry kept his arms in the air, as if she was pointing a gun at him.

"Okay, this isn't going to work if we're gonna…work together." He hated the way that sounded.

Bellatrix cocked her head at him. "Fine." She walked across the room and picked up his wand from the ground, tucking both of them inside her robes. "Now we can't fight each other --you have no way of fighting. Problem solved." She smiled a mirthless smile.

Harry stared back at her. "What would you do differently, Bellatrix?" he asked through gritted teeth, pronouncing each word slowly, as though he were speaking to a child.

"Well, for starters, I would do this." She walked across the room, picked up the piece of parchment that she had thrown haphazardly back onto the table, and tore it in half.

Harry could hardly control his anger now…but Bellatrix had his wand. He quickly ran through his options in his head, but it didn't take him long to realize that he had none. The only thing he could think to do was to try and tackle her to the ground and steal the wands from her. But somehow, he didn't envision that plan working out too well.

"FINE! You write it then."

"That was the plan."

He couldn't take another second of this, of the small room and her close proximity. Without another word, he stormed outside into the crisp morning air, hoping to clear his head.

Harry breathed in deeply and let it out, watching his breath turn white on the air and trying to focus on it instead of the newfound nuisance taking over his plan inside the shack. This relationship was going to take more than a little getting used to. He wasn't sure he could do it. Besides her being downright annoying, there was still the bitter, disgusted feeling he kept buried inside of him. No matter the necessity of an alliance with Bellatrix Lestrange, she would always be the witch who killed his godfather. He wasn't sure he could ever get over that. But he had to at least be able to stand her, for now. There was so much at stake…

With a last deep breath to calm himself down, Harry turned and headed back to the broken-down building. He turned the handle to go back inside, but it was locked.

Now, really, that was just petty…

* * *

"Hey Hermione, have you seen Harry this morning?"

Hermione looked up from her book with a slightly surprised look on her face. "No, I haven't seen him…sorry."

Ginny drew her eyebrows together in confusion and went to stand by the window. The cold that she could feel coming off of it felt somehow like an omen…

Something felt wrong, though she couldn't put her finger on exactly what. There were so many feelings welling up inside her, and she felt uncharacteristic tears spring to her eyes. She kept her face fixed on the window, away from the few people awake in the Common Room, holding back the tears. She was scared for Harry, she was confused by his reaction the night before, and on top of it all, she felt an awful feeling of resignation in the pit of her stomach. He had, of course, been lying to her last night. He'd suddenly needed to talk to Hagrid? Really?? Even if she hadn't known he already had his invisibility cloak with him, she would have known he was lying. Had he been that afraid of confessing his feelings for her? Oh, it was so irritating she wanted to scream.

And yet she couldn't help feeling like there was more to it, especially with his absence this morning. What on earth was going on?


	16. All's Fair in Murder and War

All's Fair in Murder and War

"Bellatrix! Bellatrix, open the door!"

Harry had fought a dragon and won, he'd faced Voldemort multiple times and lived to tell the tale, he'd run for his life more times than he could count and as of yet, always reached the finish line. He'd relived memories of his parents' deaths and still found the peace to sleep at night. He'd watched a boy die and dealt with more tragedy than most adults but still retained the ability and desire to laugh with his friends. He'd dealt with trauma as a child that had been life with his aunt and uncle but had overcome it. Then he'd seen happiness laid out before him within inches of his fingertips, and he'd had it snatched away again as he'd watched his godfather die. But still he was able to carry on.

But throughout all of these hardships, he had never once endured anything remotely as infuriating as Bellatrix Lestrange. With a snarl of exasperation, Harry rammed the wooden door with his shoulder but never felt contact. Bellatrix yanked the door open just before Harry's shoulder hit it, and he went crashing through the doorway, landing on the floor with a thud.

Bellatrix let out a cackle unrivaled by witches throughout history. She loved to see him suffer, even in the smallest possible way.

"Think this is funny, do you?" Harry had had enough. He jumped up from the ground, snatched the parchment out of her hand, and before she was prepared to stop him, slammed her against a wall, pinning her arms above her head with one arm. With the other, he reached her robe pocket and snatched out the two wands she'd stashed there. Sticking hers in his robes, he pointed his own at her surprised face.

"I'm getting a little tired of this. Are you ready to cooperate?" Bellatrix, somewhat less confident without her wand, nodded.

"Fine. Let's write your ridiculous letter and get this over with. You'll want to give me back my wand."

"Mm…" Harry pretended to think for a moment, "no. No I don't think I will, actually."

Bellatrix glared at him for a moment, then reached into her robes. She pulled something out of her pockets and held it in the air, smirking now, her hand on her hips, as silk dripped from her fingertips.

"That's mine." Harry glared at her now, his voice low but at this point, more tired than menacing. "Give it back."

"And that wand in your pocket," Bellatrix nodded to Harry's robes, "is mine. And I'd like it back now, if you don't mind, Potter." She walked—sauntered, really—over to the fireplace, where she'd lit a fire while he was gone in which to throw the pieces of his shredded letter, and held the invisibility cloak over it, letting folds of it dangle perilously close to the flames. "And I'm sure you don't."

Harry pulled the wand out of his robes and set it on the table, keeping his hand firmly on top of it. "Set the cloak down on the table, and you can have your wand back."

Ten minutes later, they each were back in possession of their own things…and now were arguing over who would write the letter. It was just plain petty, all of this bickering. She was like the sister he'd never had, and Harry didn't think he could stand five more minutes of it.

"Listen to me. For once, just listen. Don't say anything. Okay? Can you do that?" To Harry's amazement, silence greeted his question. "You were willing to team up with me. You know you need my help. Now, I can help you. I _can_. I've fought Voldemort before, remember? No, don't start! I've called him Voldemort since I've known his name, and I'm not going to stop now. I've fought Voldemort multiple times, and in case you haven't noticed, Bellatrix, I'm still standing. I've watched you cower on the floor, begging his mercy. I've _never _begged for mercy from Voldemort, not once, in all of the times he's almost killed me. So I _think_ I can handle this. And you know I can, or you would never have agreed to this. So please, _please_, just sit down and shut up so we can both get out of here."

Bellatrix gave him a hateful look, and opened her mouth to yell, an angry look on her face. "_I_—!" But she thought for a split second and saw an image in her mind of Voldemort on his knees, begging her forgiveness for the way he'd treated her. And for once in her life, Bellatrix was complacent. To Harry's astonishment, she sat down in a chair and simply said, "Fine. Go on then. But make it quick."

They both remained motionless for a moment, and it was hard to tell who was more shocked by Bellatrix's response—Harry or Bellatrix herself.

But after a moment of shocked silence, Harry sat down at the table, picked up a quill, and began to write his letter over again, feeling a little of the invisible frost in the room melt as he did so.

**_Dear Aunt Petunia,_**

**_I realize that this letter comes as a great inconvenience to you. I'm sorry about that. I had to send it as a Howler because I knew you wouldn't read it otherwise. I'll try to make this brief._**

**_I need your help. I know nothing in this world could inspire you to want to help me—except maybe this. I need you to help me for the same reason you took me in years ago—your life and your husband's and son's lives could be in danger._**

**_Voldemort (and I know you know who that is) is a huge threat to our world. But this means he is also a threat to your world—and specifically to you, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley. I know I have never written for help before, but Voldemort is now more powerful than he's been in a very long time, and his biggest concern is me._**

**_Up till now, he has been unable to get close enough to kill me—or at least, he's obviously not managed to do so the times he has come near enough._**

**_He's been chasing me for years, and he's tired of it. Now he's stronger and more powerful again, and he'll come after me soon. And there's a good chance he'll swing by # 4 Privet Drive on his way here._**

**_There will be a war, and I'm ready and waiting to fight it. But I'll need your help when that time comes. I have some help already. One of Voldemort's closest allies is now my ally. And with your help, our little army has a chance—this army consists of me, Voldemort's former ally Bellatrix, Dukmbedore (the headmaster of Hogwarts), my friends Hermione and Ron, and hopefully, you._**

**_I beg your help. The list above looks small, but I promise it is powerful. I know you doubt our chances, and I know you don't know what you can do to help, but I promise you our chances are fair, and your help is necessary. I'll explain your part in this war in more detail once you get here. Which I know you will, if you are concerned for your family._**

**_You know where to find me. Come soon._**

**_Harry_**

Harry sent the letter that afternoon with Hedwig. He went to sleep that night thinking of his relationship with Bellatrix, something that occupied his mind a lot these days. Could they make this work? The letter was just the first step. Theirs was a shaky alliance, but one that had to work if the inevitable war he had planned was to happen…and to turn out the way he hoped it would.

*****

That night, Harry found himself walking along the Hogsmeade road that led to the shack where he and Bellatrix had written the letter and spent so many hours bickering. The sky was foggy and the air cold, blowing against his skin and ruffling his robes. He'd forgotten his cloak.

Harry looked straight ahead as he walked, but still he noticed the eerie silence and deserted streets. Not a soul was out at this time of night…this time…what time was it? He wondered vaguely but found he didn't care, any more than he cared about the cold or the silence or the emptiness.

Soon he reached the shack. He turned the knob, found that it was unlocked, and went inside. Bellatrix was waiting for him there. She had lit a fire in the fireplace and was sitting at the table, scratching away with a quill on a piece of parchment.

"Bellatrix? What are you doing here? Come to think of it, what exactly am I doing here?" He may not have cared, but he was still disoriented by the whole thing.

Bellatrix looked up at him and smiled. This was not the cold, harsh sneer that was her usual expression. It was a warm, genuine…even loving smile. What was even stranger than her smile was the fact that Harry didn't find it at all strange. He felt immediately drawn to her, and he walked into the room without hesitation, walked over to her without reservation, even _wanting_ to go near her.

When he reached the table, he looked down at the piece of parchment on which Bellatrix had been writing. One sentence was written there, a twisted version of a common saying. "All's fair in murder and war," it said, and the letters glared off the page at Harry not in ink…but in blood. Harry's eyes widened. His glance flitted to Bellatrix's quill, which was dripping in blood. The tip was not a feather but rather a sharpened metal point. Harry could feel Bellatrix still smiling at him.

He looked up at her, eyes still wide, and a split second later, her face had changed from a welcoming smile to a sneer of pure hatred. Next moment, Bellatrix lashed out at Harry and made a slash across his forehead with the tip of her quill…


End file.
